


If You Can Hear My Heart

by asteroidhearts



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Asian Character(s), Banter, Blood and Violence, Comedy, Drama, F/M, Flirting, Inspired by K-Drama | Korean Drama, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Rating May Change, Romance, Slow Burn, Warnings May Change, hint: it gon b a lot eventually, i'm putting loki in a historical k-drama and no one can stop me, this fic passes the bechdel test. legend, time period is a mishmash of asia's biggest eras - never specific
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-03-08 23:44:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 44,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18905071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asteroidhearts/pseuds/asteroidhearts
Summary: (post-Endgame)When Loki disappears with the Tesseract, he winds up in a mountain village in northern Asia.  There, he meets Zhou Jia, a woman whose youthfulness proves a worthy match to Loki's immaturity.Naturally, they bond.Loki assumes at first that she’s a courtesan (because she's always surrounded by other women), then a healer (because she personally patches him up till he makes full recovery)... but Jia is more than what he thinks, the village is more than what he sees, and the mountain is not as tranquil as everyone believes.





	1. 零 prologue

**Author's Note:**

> like the tags say, this is inspired by historical k-dramas! i actually got the idea while watching mulan but it evolved into this.
> 
> i'm super excited to play with this world. i've had lots of fun researching different cultures in asia (aside from mine - so no this won't just be inspired by k-stuff heh) and i can't wait to see it all come to life :)
> 
> btw 25 chapters is tentative!!! my goal is to hit 20, but i put 25 just in case, so the # may change.
> 
> enjoy!
> 
>  
> 
> _rating change: General to **Teen & Up** [5 June 2019]_

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki lands in a snowstorm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prologue as usual is me setting the tone. i'm suuuuper excited to finally post this story. it's my first long fic. i hope you join me the whole way! please enjoy and leave some love!

— **WINTER** —

 

For a Frost Giant, Loki is shuddering in this cold like he isn’t.  That is not normal, so when he shivers a second time — teeth chattering, cheeks stinging — his brows crease.  Then he groans, because furrowing his eyebrows is painful.

 

Even so, Loki knows three things.  One: he is on the ground shrouded in snow.  He's on his back, five inches deep in the icy fluff, arms and legs spread away from the rest of his body.  His body is the second thing: it _hurts._ He knows he fell here, landing flat on rock-hard ground.   The impact must have been so strong that it immobilized him.  He jostles his brain for any memory: the most recent is when he grabbed the Tesseract back at the Tower while nobody was looking... with no clear idea about where he wanted to go except _far_.

 

Well, this definitely feels far.

 

Still, wherever the Tesseract has taken him, it’s awful, and for a second he regrets snatching it.  An expletive bubbles from his chest, yet it dies down when he realizes that he himself is to blame for… wherever he is right now.  He didn’t think hard enough about where he would go with the Infinity Stone, so it made the decision for him, and it has decided to strand him on an icy mountain somewhere.

 

And that’s the third thing: wherever he is right now, it is certainly a mountain.  He can’t feel the air (he can’t feel much in general except the stinging, burning, frozen numbness of his body), but it’s difficult for him to breathe.  Granted he's trying hard not to belabor his body by _breathing_ , the air pressure still pierces the inside of his ears.  There is a thinness, a lightness, to everything around him.  He wonders why his body is so  _frail_ against nature right now.

 

Then it hits him.

 

From deep beneath his throat, he groans again.  The sound drags a claw up his throat but he pushes through the pain.  When he successfully opens his eyes, his fear is confirmed.

 

He is still  _on Earth_.  The Tesseract didn't take him far away like he wanted, not far enough.  For however long he has been on this mountain (for he has no clue at all and it physically hurts to venture a guess), his body has had time to adjust to Earth's geography here, much like it adjusts to the environment of any other realm that he might be (and could have been!) occupying, and it is costing him literally everything.

 

The wind picks up, howling from all sides, dragging with it more ice and cold, dry air.  Loki’s mouth trembles, frosted over a little.  He strains to run his tongue over it, then he realizes another thing.

 

No muffler.  No shackles.

 

Even though all past attempts to move his body so far have been fleeting, he tries to flex his fingers (he can't), then he inches his arms further away from his body (only a little).  Indeed, the bounds that were placed on him earlier (“earlier” is a rough estimate — again, he has no idea how long he’s been up here) are gone, presumably snapped off by… what, exactly?  The air, gravity, as he fell?  The impact when his body slammed into the ground?

 

The confusion that has crept into his consciousness stresses him out even more.  Even worse, the wind has gotten stronger now.  The howling has turned violent, louder, more menacing.  When it grazes his face, his neck, his hands, it’s like he’s being sliced.  His immediate surroundings fill up with more snow, but while everything else is unforgiving, the sky is eerily blue.  No cloud in sight.  As clear as peace.  A joke.

 

 _If I die here_ , he mumbles in his head, completely dejected, _at least I die free._

 

He allows his stiff eyelids to fall; it’s easy when his lashes are coated with snow.  His body stills.

 

 

 

 

 

_“Quick!  Quick, there’s a man up here!”_

 

_“A man?  What are you talking about?”_

 

 _“Just_ — _Hurry!  I can’t tell if he’s alive…”_

 

The sounds are too distant, but Loki knows it’s voices.  His body is devoid of any strength, but he senses a presence, a weight, approach him.  Everything inside Loki is begging him to wake up, he’s in danger, he needs to fight these people, _they’ve found him, they’ve_ found _him, they’ve found_ him.

 

He croaks.

 

A gasp.

 

 _“He_... _He’s alive!”_

 

 _“Oh_ — _Dear_ — _W- We need to bring him back to the village!_ ”

 

Loki is aching to summon some knives and silence these voices.  But it takes perhaps ten whole seconds before he can even pry open his eyes, and even then he still can’t _see_.  He is so weak; his face is ice.  If any one of these people tries to touch him, his skin might shatter.

 

A face — a blurry, amorphous figure in the shape of a face — appears within his vision.

 

_“Sir, listen to me.  You’re going to be okay.”_

 

The voice is still so small, muffled.

 

_“We’re here to help you.”_

 

The only words Loki can think: _Please don’t_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *the part where loki's body adjusted to earth's geography is totally my au headcanon thingy - it's gonna be necessary for the story hehehe
> 
> in the next chapter, we meet jia!
> 
> thank you for reading!


	2. 一 melted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're not in New York anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tmw i made a playlist for this fic but it's really just the soundtrack to scarlet heart ryeo b yE
> 
> anyway, a couple songs i recommend you guys to listen to while reading (or after you've read it so you can ~imagine it~ playing in the scene)
> 
> \- **_Cherry Blossom Love Song_ by Chen** \- _"When Jia steps out of the throne room..."_  
>  \- **_Everytime_ by Chen, Punch** \- _"Their eyes meet..."_
> 
> (if you wanna know if this fic has an OST, yes lol! it's "can you hear my heart" by epik high ft. lee hi :D)
> 
> enjoy, and leave love! (and THANKS FOR THE KUDOS ? I JUST posted this yesterday but i already got feedback wOW y'all are great i love you)

****Every winter, a snowstorm plows through the kingdom of Hanwoo.  It clothes the country in a blinding blanket of white, in a blizzard that can rage for days.  One year, three days; the next, nine.  But the people have learned to woo nature, if not tolerate her, and whether she chooses to pillage Hanwoo for a word or a sentence, they are always ready.

 

For there is a resilience here that binds every citizen, every subject, every creature.  The kind of strength that blossoms into the very real hope that one day, eventually, the snow will melt, leaving the rivers running deeper, the leaves greener, the sky bluer, and the people happier than when it arrived.

 

This year is no exception.

 

This year, the storm chose to stay for only five days.  A happy average, if the people have ever seen one.  When the ice thawed completely, most people were overjoyed.  Others, especially the farmers who live in the part of the valley where the river ends, grumbled a bit — if only the storm held on for another day, the melt would have reached their crops.

 

At least they can all see the sun now.

 

When Jia steps out of the throne room, she takes in a deep breath.  Crisp, fresh air fills her lungs. The final waves of snowy winter caress her cheeks, ghosting over her skin like a whisper.  She briefly closes her eyes as she smiles up at the sun, at the endless blue sky.  According to the king's astronomer, spring isn't due to arrive until two months from now, but to Jia, the first clear day after the snowstorm is when spring truly begins.

 

“Jia.”

 

She turns around at the voice, immediately bowing.

 

“Your majesty,” she greets, holding the bow for several beats before unfolding herself.

 

The king offers her a gentle smile.  “I hope you don't let today's council meeting get to you.  It seems not all of the ice from the storm has thawed.”

 

Jia returns a soft chuckle.  “Of course, your majesty.  Whatever words were thrown around in there are welcome.  At least I know they were listening to me.”

 

The two share a moment of reverent laughter.  In the vastness of the palace, the washed brightness of the stonework, and the silence of the courtyard, their joy is like music.  There are guards lining the dramatically long path to the wide, steep stairs leading up to the throne room; those nearest to the front who heard the king and Jia laughing fight to shift their eyes to the wholesome moment in an attempt to share in their glee.

 

“So, will you be returning home now?” the king poses, hands clasped behind his back.  “You are welcome to share lunch with my family and me. The queen would be more than happy to see you.”

 

“You'll have to forgive me for declining, your majesty,” Jia says, truly apologetic, “and to give my regards to the queen as well as the prince.  There is… something I must attend to at home.”

 

“All is well, I hope?”

 

“Yes!  All is well,” she smiles.  “It just needs my attention, is all.”

 

The king doesn't pry.  Instead, he dips his chin, his beard creasing a bit on his neck.

 

“I shall give your best to the family, provided that you ready your home for the queen this week,” he warns jokingly.  “I know she will want your company and your opinion on some matter or another, especially now that the storm can't stop her.”

 

“If I knew that I was so in demand with the royal family, I would've braved the storm myself,” Jia jests, making the king chuckle.  “Her majesty is always welcome in Kay-Jia.  I'll be waiting for her.”

 

The galloping of a horse thunders throughout the courtyard.  It is Jia's steed, brought to her by a palace stableman. They halt at the foot of the stairs.  The stableman swings himself off of the horse and holds the reins, waiting for Jia to come down and retrieve it.

 

The king tuts his tongue at the sight of the beast.

 

“This palace has more palanquins than it needs,” he says.  “Do the family a favor and rid us of one.”

 

Jia grins and bows deeply again.  “You'll have to forgive me once again for declining, your majesty.  I'm afraid my horse can't fit in a palanquin.”

 

That earns a full bark of laughter from the king.  Jia almost jumps at its suddenness, the sheepish grin on her face only widening.  A few guards as well as the stableman hold back a snort. The king shakes his head, returning to the throne room muttering _horse can't fit in a palanquin_  under his breath before bursting into a hearty guffaw again, his booming voice echoing around the empty hall.

 

Jia giggles quietly.  The tall doors of the throne room close behind her, leaving her alone on the steps.  When she descends the stairs, she thanks the stableman for bringing her her horse. He bows and heads towards one of the side-entrances to the courtyard.

 

Swiftly, gracefully, Jia secures herself on the back of the horse.  She's thankful that she wore breeches under her _hanfu_ today; it's way easier to ride on horseback when your legs aren't confined.  She gives the horse a kick, and off they gallop towards the main entrance ahead.

 

There, four of Jia's guards who came with her to the palace urge their horses on to ride alongside her.  They deftly maneuver the terrain of the mountain on which the royal court is situated.  The palace is half an hour away from Jia's home; she and her band take their time, cautious of the road, but she almost wishes they wouldn't.

 

The “something” that she must attend to is pulling her further and more urgently by the second.  She's buzzing to get home, because that “something” is not a thing.  It's a person.  He's been asleep for the better part of three weeks now, and if the healers are right in their diagnosis, he's supposed to wake up today.

 

 

 

 

As soon as Kay-Jia is a stone's throw away, Jia tenses her body and squeezes her horse's reins.  It skids to a halt directly under the archway leading into the main courtyard.  As quickly as she swings herself off of her steed, five ladies of the court scuttle to her, all bowing in unison.

 

“Has he awoken?” Jia asks them, her excitement only a bit bated.  Behind her, a guard takes her horse back to the stables.

 

“Not yet, my lady,” one responds for all of them when they’re upright.  “He remains in bed.  Healer Chien is tending to him now in case he wakes.”

 

“Take me to him.” Jia's tone is somewhere between an order and a request.  In her urgency, her dress flutters all around her ankles, and her servants almost struggle to keep up.

 

They cross the small bridge that curves over the center of the courtyard’s rectangular pond.  There are three bridges in total; the other two are positioned at either end of the pond.  Beneath them, in the water, vibrant koi slither in near poetic patterns, never disturbing the lotus pads floating above them on the water’s surface.

 

All around, Kay-Jia is teeming with life.  Every person who lives in the court has been brought out by this brand-new day.  The gardeners are finally able to tend to the trees and shrubbery; the court’s head caretaker stands in the far end of the pond, feeding the koi.  Court servants, women and men alike, tend to each building.  Some are walking the wolves who’ve been cooped up in their quarters for the past five days; others are simply out and about, basking in the sun.  The guards of Kay-Jia patrol the perimeter and the most important spots in the court, particularly the main house, the armory, the storehouse, and, most recently, one of the guest rooms in the inner part of the court.

 

“Has anything new happened while I was gone?” Jia wonders.

 

“No, my lady, none, at least not with the guest,” one of her court-ladies answers.  “But the wolf that was pregnant during the winter finally gave birth.”

 

“Today?!”

 

“Yes!”  The court-lady is grinning.  “Four new pups, two males and two females, all very beautiful.”

 

Jia claps her hands once.  “I must meet them, after I visit our guest.”

 

This guest of theirs… He was taken to the court twenty-three days ago.  Two of Jia’s servants found him tucked in the pass, barely clinging to life.  It was a grand miracle he didn’t die up there.  Some of the soldiers stationed at the pass led the servants back to the court, stopping in the valley to recharge where they were able to tend to the man a little, breathing some semblance of life back into his body to prepare him for the rest of the journey.  Because Kay-Jia is on the mountain range all the way across from Mar-So Pass, it takes a little over a day to reach it.  As soon as the band arrived, the servants were guided back to their quarters, and the guest was prepared a room inside the court.

 

Finally, after crossing the inner courtyard and meandering their way through the guest wing, Jia and the court-ladies reach the guest's room.  One of the ladies slides the door open for Jia. While her entourage stays behind in the hallway, Jia enters.  Inside, the chief healer of Jia’s household is seated by the guest, taking scrupulous notes about his well-being on a thick pad of parchment.

 

“Healer Chien,” she greets the healer with a bow.  “Thank you for working hard.”

 

The healer returns the bow, her head dipping just a bit deeper.  “You have nothing to thank me for, my lady.”

 

Jia glances towards the guest.  He’s lying on a tatami sleeping mat, the softest kind from the Meiji District.  He looks so peaceful on the mat, maybe too much. If not for the shallow rise and fall of his chest, Jia would easily assume he has passed.

 

“How is he?”  Her voice is soft like the guest is just napping and she doesn’t want to disturb him.

 

The healer offers a gentle smile in return.  “He will open his eyes today, but his body is still weak.  It will take time.”

 

Jia bites down on her lip as if her impatience has just been caught.  Truth be told, since he first arrived here, Jia has visited the man every single day.  It’s her responsibility as the head of Kay-Jia to be attentive to guests, so she’s been hands-on in taking care of him, from feeding to cleaning to mending… but she’d be lying if she said she isn’t excited by the thought of housing a _foreigner_.  They’ve never seen anyone like him before — not his face, his physique, his clothes — but the wonder soon passed when, after his armor was removed, leaving him in his green tunic and black breeches, the healers found him covered in wounds and scars.  They estimated that he was at the pass for one day, but the wounds were so _fresh_ that it baffled them how he came to be at Mar-So Pass, whether he was ambushed or he just ended up there already wounded.

 

Still, Jia’s thrill never dissipated.  Even now, she gazes down at the foreigner with a look so gentle yet energetic, like she’s willing him awake with her eyes.  The healer notices, but she keeps her amusement at bay.

 

Instead, she bows a farewell to Jia, handing her the pad of parchment with both hands before leaving the room entirely.

 

Jia removes her eyes from the man to pore over Healer Chien’s new notes.   _Twenty-third day, on the eighth hour: the Guest continues his slumber.  Labored breathing, injured lungs.  Most wounds have healed — wounds on chest, waist, back of the head will take longer.  Suspected head injury.  He will wake up today._

 

Over the weeks that the healers tended to the guest, they found out several interesting things.  He has no broken bones, and he has suffered no internal bleeding.  His small wounds, like the scratches on his face, healed at an inhumanly rapid rate.  Most mysteriously, his body seems to be perennially cold.  The temperature made sense when he was first brought in, but after the first week when the only task was to defrost him, his skin maintained its coolness.

 

Jia places the notes on a nearby desk.  She looks around the room: it’s clean enough, but she doesn’t like how dim it is.  She unlatches the window and slowly pushes it open, welcoming in a fresh breeze and an even fresher stream of sunlight.

 

When she turns around, she lets out a soft gasp.

 

“ _Oh,_ ” she breathes ever so coherently.

 

The sun now illuminates the guest in a hazy brightness.  Jia sits beside him and unabashedly scrutinizes his face.  He's so serene, so _smooth_ even with the tiny scars on his face.  Neat eyebrows, a sharp nose, even sharper cheekbones, the longest eyelashes she's ever seen, thin lips that pucker just a bit.  His long black hair, the aspect of him that intrigues Jia the most, falls to his shoulders and on the pillow in messy rivulets.  She reaches a hand to gather all of them behind his head, slightly grimacing at how greasy it has become.  Whenever he needed to be washed, he was only patted with a towel dampened by perfumed water.   _He definitely needs a bath,_ Jia smiles sheepishly.

 

Under the light of the sun, Jia can see more of him, like she's seeing him for the first time.  In more ways than one, this _is_ the first time.  In the past weeks, when the snow blocked the sun from shining on Hanwoo, she could only see him by the light of a lamp or a candle, always shrouded in partial darkness.  But even then she found herself transfixed.  There is no other word to describe him.  He is beautiful.

 

The door slides open a little.

 

“My lady, may I enter?”

 

Jia looks away from the man to the door.  “Come in.”

 

It slides open, and a court-lady enters the room with a mahogany tray-table.  On it rests a set of clay teapot and teacups.  Jasmine wafts from the smoke billowing out of the pot’s tiny mouth.

 

“Thank you.”  Jia stands to accept the tray.  

 

The court-lady backs away a little so Jia doesn't touch the table.

 

“Please allow me to set it for you,” she says, her head bowed.

 

Jia gingerly retreats her hands to her chest, a slight blush dusting her cheeks.  The head of the court has a strange habit of assisting her servants; they know her so well that they remind her she doesn't have to.

 

As the court-lady sets the tray-table on the floor, Jia returns to her spot beside the foreigner. It is known amongst the court that Jia likes to watch him.  It has become an inside joke to all of them, and by “all of them”, that includes Jia herself.

 

“Afraid he might disappear, my lady?” the servant teases as she prepares a cup.

 

Jia snickers.  “Only afraid he passes on to the next life without saying thanks.”

 

The servant giggles as she sets the cup on the table on Jia’s right.  Jia lifts the lid of the cup, the aroma of the golden-orange pool of jasmine tea hitting her right in the face.  It soothes her senses immediately.  When she sips, the warmth spreads throughout her body, a whisper of comfort.

 

She continues watching the man over the brim of the cup.  “When do you think he’ll wake?”

 

The servant shrugs minimally.  “I’m unsure, my lady.  But if Healer Chien says that he’ll wake up today, we can only wait.”

 

“And stare,” Jia adds, making the court-lady snort behind a hand.

 

With one last breath, Jia shifts herself to face the court-lady instead.  The two ladies lapse into an easy, hushed conversation about the court, the new litter of pups, and anything else they want to discuss.  It’s moments like this that reminds Jia’s servants how blessed they are to work in Kay-Jia.  Jia is easygoing, benevolent, light and vibrant like a friend.  Not every head of a house is willing to sit down and _spend time_ with their servants, let alone speak to them like equals.  Beyond conversation, the house of Zhou remains the most desired court to serve among the commoners, because Jia treats every person under her care with utmost respect, providing them with food, material, and salary almost always higher than what their contracts state.  As a result, every member of the court renews their contract because even the hardest work in the house becomes easier when its head treats you like a person.

 

Jia and her servant are so invested in their conversation that they don’t notice their guest move.

 

 

 

 

 

The first thing Loki feels is the soft mat beneath his body.  It’s firm enough to hold his frame, but it dips just a little, conforming to the way the different parts of his body are resting on it.  Then, the blanket — a bit weighted, made of a light fabric that’s cool to the touch.  And then the sun, on his face, warm and pleasant.  He instantly thinks of his mother and the way she would wake him when he was young, with her hand cupping his face gently, an equally gentle smile on her lips.

 

The first thing Loki hears are voices.  The memory of his mother fades immediately, replaced by the memory of the muffled voices that found him in the mountain.  But _these_ aren’t those voices, no.  These voices are softer, with a melodic lilt to their words.  These voices belong to women, two of them, speaking to each other in hushed tones.  He doesn’t feel the need to summon knives, but because he's unfamiliar, he’s still apprehensive.

 

Loki manages to release a quiet groan.  The voices stop.  With his lashes no longer heavy with snow, it’s easy for him to pry his eyes open.

 

At the same time his eyes fully flutter awake, one of the women turns.  Their eyes meet, and while Loki can’t do much but stare right back, the woman’s face slowly breaks out into a grin.

 

The first thing Loki sees is not a thing, but a person.  A woman, whose head is now hovering above him.  Her face is small and fair, so fair that he can easily make out the rosiness of her cheeks.  She’s smiling so widely, her lips slightly rouged, the bottom one thicker than the top, straight white teeth glistening.  Her wide, dark-brown eyes sparkle.  Loki’s sight pulls back — he doesn’t doubt that this is an actual face and not some fuzzy face-shape like the one in the mountain.  Not when he sees her this clearly, this close, when the sun is shining on her like this, when the first thing his eyes behold is nothing short of beautiful.

 

“Beautiful…” he mumbles.

 

 

 

 

 

At the sound of his voice, Jia’s servant yelps.  Not just because of the fact that he can talk, that he’s alive, but because he just called Jia by her name.

 

Jia is just as perturbed.  She draws in her eyebrows, her smile falling a little.

 

“Do you know me?” she asks.

 

It takes several moments for the man to respond.  When he does, his voice is so weak that Jia has to move herself closer to hear him.

 

“N- No…” he breathes.  “I said… _beautiful_ …”

 

“No, I know, that’s what you said,” Jia replies, almost too eagerly.  “That’s my name.  _Jia._ ”

 

The man croaks out a whine.  “ _Exactly_ … I said beautiful…”

 

The first person in the room who realizes what’s happening is the servant.  Jia slowly turns to her.  Her eyes are met with a very amused court-lady, who has come down from her moment of shock and is now back in her element.

 

“I think he’s calling you pretty, my lady,” the servant offers.

 

Jia’s eyes fall to the side, the grin on her face returning, this time tinged with a little smirk.

 

“So he doesn’t know me,” Jia concludes.

 

The servant nods her head in agreement.

 

Jia returns to the man, a playfulness swimming in her eyes.  She analyzes him again as he takes in his surroundings.  His eyes are piercing green, not uncommon, but seeing him wide awake is starkly different from seeing him asleep.  His eyes give a brightness to him that, even with exhaustion glazing over them, Jia can’t help but stare.  She realizes another thing.

 

“You can understand me?”

 

The man finds her face, looking lost for a moment like he’s forgotten that she’s there.

 

“I can.”

 

 _Interesting_ , Jia thinks.   _How does this foreigner know our language…_

 

 

 

 

 

Loki’s senses are slowly but steadily heading into overdrive.  He’s seeing, feeling, hearing, and smelling too many things at once.  The room, the mat, the blanket.  The women, the _jasmine tea_ , the coolness pouring into the room.  The open window, the sun, and then the room again.  He feels the bandages wrapped around his torso and patched all over his body.  He only settles down when the woman asks him if he can understand her.

 

 _So the Allspeak works_ , he thinks.   _How convenient._

 

Loki realizes that the two of them have been staring at one other for however long.  He doesn’t back away and neither does she.  He notes her countenance again, taking in the rest of what he can see of her while he’s lying down.  Her hair is pulled up into a simple bun.  She’s wearing a silk violet dress with an elegant collar, embroidered, as well as sleeves that end just below her elbows.  The deep-violet of the dress brings out her fair complexion in a way that is both beautiful and terrifying.  She looks so _regal_.

 

“Are you a queen?”

 

The woman snorts.  The other woman in the room snickers — Loki can’t see her, but he hears her from the foot of the mat.  He’s annoyed now.

 

“No,” the woman in the violet dress replies, ignoring the way Loki flared his nostrils.  “How can you speak my language?”

 

“I just _can_ ,” he responds firmly, glancing away from her to the ceiling.

 

“ _Impressive._ ”  The woman says that more to herself than anyone else, gaping at him in awe.  “But I hope it’s not because you’re a spy, because then I’d have to report you.”

 

When Loki flashes her a sharp look that would have made a man whimper, she only meets it with glinting eyes.  So she’s only teasing, he knows immediately she’s pushing his buttons.  Her eyes are so expressive that even when an innocent smile worms its way to her face, the glint never leaves her gaze.  How many emotions can there be in someone’s eyes?

 

He gives in first.

 

“Who are you?”

 

Her eyes soften instantly, warming up like she wasn’t just playing with him moments ago.   _How does she do that so quickly?_

 

“I’m Zhou Jia.”

 

Loki searches her face for any more tricks.  When he finds none, he proceeds with a deep inhale.

 

“Alright, Zhou Jia—”

 

“Please, call me Jia,” she smiles, then she arches a brow, leaning in almost conspiratorially.  “Only my father is allowed to call me Zhou Jia.”

 

Instead of responding, Loki looks around the room.  It’s yellow and bare; on the wall to his left, his armor hangs.  Even in his fragile state, he can’t help but be in awe of the architecture of the room.  It’s mostly wood, some paper ( _Paper?_ ), but the walls and the ceiling are concrete.  Lots of squares, symmetry, in the design — the attention to detail and organization that has been paid here brings him a serenity that he can’t quite place.  It’s all so… simple, yet graceful.  He’s not in New York anymore.

 

“Where am I?” he asks in an unexpectedly tiny voice.

 

Jia surveys him.  Her shoulders fall when she releases a breath, her smile never leaving her face.

 

“You’re safe, if that’s what worries you,” she says.

 

That isn't what he wanted to hear.  But the way she said it, _safe_ , sounds certain.  It’s an assurance and a promise at the same time.  He’s _safe_ , and it's the truth.  He masks the comfort her words bring him.

 

Instead, Loki tries to sit up, involuntarily whimpering in the process.  Immediately, Jia rushes forward to support him, muttering “ _Gently, gently_ ” as she helps him sit up.  Jia’s servant pours tea in the other cup as Jia helps Loki settle.  She hands it to Jia which she accepts.

 

Jia extends the tea to him.  “Have a sip. It’s jasmine tea.”

 

Loki takes the drink, but he doesn’t take a sip, not yet.  He rests it in his lap, staring at his reflection in the liquid.

 

“How about yours?” Jia poses.  “What’s your name?”

 

 _Right, I haven’t introduced myself._  Then: _She doesn’t know who I am?_

 

How is that possible?  How can anyone not recognize him when he nearly destroyed _New York_ with a legion of _aliens_?

 

At first he scans her face, a look of mild disgust ready to manifest on his own for her patronizing him… but there is nothing there.  Her eyes, in their expressiveness, prove that she sincerely doesn’t know who he is.

 

Loki forces himself to twist around to the window behind him.  He examines the view outside.  It's a courtyard, or a part of it.  There are women laughing and talking under a tree.  A man clips bushes right by more wood-and-paper buildings.  Guards in interesting armor march the grounds in pairs.  They’re all dressed so… out of place.

 

Or…

 

Out of time?

 

“ _When am I_ …?” he mumbles too quietly.

 

 

 

 

 

Too quiet for Jia’s servant to hear, but not for Jia.  She hears the words fall from his lips as clear as the day.  Suddenly, pieces of a puzzle begin to shift into something she can’t quite make out.  It’s hard to understand, but surprisingly very easy to accept: this man is not just from a foreign land… but also a foreign time.

 

Jia decides that she will ask him about that later, when the two of them are alone _and_ when the time is right.

 

“You should rest,” she says instead.  “You woke up at the right time, you know.  The snowstorm has just—”

 

“I do not _need more rest_.”  The man’s tone is biting, razor-sharp, irreverent.  Jia’s servant gasps at his interruption.

 

Jia presses her lips into a thin line, but the corners are upturned.  She never stops smiling, always so composed.

 

“I will have a warm bath prepared for you, to soothe your muscles and bones—”

 

“I do not need your help, you mortal, I am a _god_ —”

 

“And food!” Jia cuts him off with a beam on her face.  “I find that a good soup can soothe the spirit.  Luckily, our cook has perfected the best soup for pain.”

 

The court-lady is wincing at Loki’s words, her eyes visibly twitching in embarrassment.  He’s so disrespectful that it physically hurts her.  She’s thankful when Jia gives her a nod, a signal to leave the room, to prepare the bath and food, but also to escape.  Outside, the other court-ladies exchange muffled exclamations of surprise, shock,  _he did what?!_ , before scampering away entirely.

 

Meanwhile, Jia is not at all bothered by her guest.  If anything, she’s quite amused by his antics.  Watching him while he was asleep has been entertaining, but with him wide awake?  Behaving like _this_ with only an ounce of energy in his body?  Jia can only smile at the possibilities.

 

Loki scrutinizes the smile that has blossomed on Jia’s face.  She looks wistful, almost nostalgic, as she calmly stares at him.  Who is this crazy woman that doesn’t cower in fear like her servant?  His tantrum, however genuine he intended it to be, shames him now.  Any other person would have ran, grabbed a weapon, yelled for help, all of the above... but not Zhou Jia.

 

Whatever his goal was in lashing out lays forgotten.  He bows his head, avoiding Jia’s eyes.

 

Several beats of silence pass between the two of them.  Jia is the one who breaks it.

 

“Please drink your tea before it gets cold,” she says.

 

Well, Loki isn’t expecting _that_.  Nevertheless, he brings the cup to his mouth and takes a sip.  The aroma of the tea suffuses his senses and instantly, _instantly_ , he relaxes into its embrace.

 

Jia notices him loosen.  She waits a moment, allowing him to take more of the tea, before speaking again.

 

“So, what is your name?”

 

Finally, Loki brings himself to meet her gaze.  She’s beaming at him expectantly, patiently, her eyes twinkling as she waits.

 

“Loki,” he says.  He almost gives her his last name too but he hesitates, deciding that it’s unimportant.

 

Whether Jia notices or not, she doesn’t reveal.

 

“Loki,” she repeats, the name strange on her tongue.

 

She wants to ask more questions.  She wants to know where he’s from, _when_ he’s from, what his name means, how he got here.  Her chest bubbles with anticipation, but she fights it.  She can’t bombard him yet.  He still needs to rest, to recharge, to find the strength to move without wincing.  He must learn to acclimate himself to the court, to the kingdom.  But before all of that, he needs to recover.

 

“Well, Loki,” Jia says, smiling again, “welcome to Kay-Jia.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * i imagined jia's hanfu in this chapter as a hybrid between a qipao and a hanfu (duh), with the collar/sleeve of a qipao and the plane-cut of a hanfu for the skirt - i hesitated to call it a qipao in the fic tho b/c qipao isn't technically chinese lols... ~~but hanwoo isn't even china so like~~
> 
> ANYWAY gentle reminder to listen to:
> 
> \- **_Cherry Blossom Love Song_ by Chen** \- _"When Jia steps out of the throne room..."_  
>  \- **_Every Time_ by Chen, Punch** \- _"Their eyes meet..."_
> 
> to help visualize this chapter.
> 
> next chapter, new loki x jia shenanigans! plus, we learn more about hanwoo - what it is, where it is, and more :)
> 
> see you then!


	3. 二 up is down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki takes his first steps into recovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> VERY long chapter ahead,,,, i'm sorry,,,
> 
> new songs to listen to:
> 
> \- **_All With You_ by Taeyeon** \- _“In a weird trance, Loki watches her…”_  
>  \- **_Beautiful_ by Crush** \- _“Gently, Jia blows on the parchment, urging the ink to dry…”_  
>  \- **_Can You Hear My Heart_ by Epik High & Lee Hi** \- _“For the next several minutes, Jia redresses Loki’s wounds…”_
> 
> enjoy!

****“Well, Loki.”  Jia smiles. “Welcome to Kay-Jia.”

 

Loki blinks at her once, then twice.  He’s lost. Never mind that she said he’s _welcome_ , he’s more confused about the second part of what Jia said that, for a moment, he wonders if his Allspeak glitched.  What did she say?   _Kay-Jia?_

 

Jia catches the absent look on his face.  Her grin is goofy.

 

“Right, you have no idea what I’m talking about,” she says.  “I’ll tell you everything you want to know later, but first?”

 

She points at his torso.  Loki looks down at himself.

 

“What?”

 

“Your wounds.”  Jia brings her hand down.  “I need to take off the bandages before you bathe.”

 

An awkward cloud settles over Loki.  Fortunately for him, Jia’s patience ran thin when she was waiting for him to wake up, so when she hastily reaches forward with her hands as if to grab, Loki aims his body away from her, suddenly modest.

 

Jia scoffs.  “ _Aiyah_ , are we so _shy_?  I need to take your bandages off or your wounds _will_ get infected in the water.”

 

Here’s the thing: there’s really no reason for Loki to be so bashful.  He’s been naked in front of people before (and in way more lewd scenarios), so logically, he doesn’t understand why he won’t let Jia take his tunic off.  The thing is he _wants_ her to — remove his bandages, that is — but…

 

“Look, I understand,” Jia says, “but you smell.  And I _know_ you feel unclean, and you might even be a little hungry—”

 

As if on cue, Loki’s stomach makes the most dramatic hunger call.  He fights the blood rushing to his face, unable to believe that his body just betrayed him like that.

 

Meanwhile, Jia is forcing herself not to laugh.

 

“As I was saying,” she says pointedly, trying to stay serious, “the sooner you clean yourself, the sooner you can eat.”

 

Loki avoids her eyes, still very much embarrassed.

 

Jia’s voice is soft when she says, “I promise I’ll be gentle.”

 

Loki’s brain whirs.  She’s right, he is unclean.  If he lets himself relax even for a second, he can feel every grime on his body, under his nails, on his scalp, all over his clothes.  For however long he has been in bed, it’s a surprise that the filth didn’t wake him up.

 

He strains to face Jia.  “How long have I been here?”

 

“Today,” she says, “marks twenty-three days.”

 

_Twenty-three days with no hygiene?!_

 

Loki sighs, defeated.  He hands the barely-empty cup of tea to Jia which she places back on the tray-table.  In one swift move, he pulls his tunic over his head, clenching his jaw, swallowing the screams of protest from his body.  That mountain really did him in.

 

The door suddenly slides open.  A sharp gasp.  Both Loki and Jia snap their heads to the sound, the former scrambling to wrap his tunic over himself.  Again, no reason to be shy, and yet.

 

It’s the same court-lady from earlier.  Her entire face is aflame, the image of Loki’s naked torso burned onto her brain forever now.

 

“The- The bath is ready, my lady,” she stammers, looking nowhere but her feet.  “And the food is- is being prepared.”

 

“Thank you so much.  You may go,” Jia says, a giant smile on her face knowing, even without looking, that Loki must be as red as a plum right now.

 

The court-lady bows and nearly trips over her own feet trying to leave the guest room.  Jia doesn’t stop herself from giggling this time.

 

“Must have seen something _horrifying_.”  She turns back to Loki, brightly grinning, both hands extended.  “Tunic?”

 

Loki wants to keep himself covered ( _again,_  why?), but he fights it.  He rolls his tunic and places it in Jia’s hands.  Quietly, he watches as she neatly folds it and sets it right by the tray-table.  She stands up and walks to a nearby desk. Loki keeps his eyes on her as she runs her hands over some jars neatly lined on the table.  She returns by his side, two small brown jars in hand.

 

Jia holds out the jars to Loki to give him time to read the labels.  They’re written in Yuan script, the dialect of her native district, the district in which Kay-Jia is located.  A translation in the common tongue is inscribed below the Yuan in a smaller font.

 

“I can’t read it,” Loki says.

 

Jia arches a brow.  She assumed that he could, considering he speaks Yuan so well.

 

“Well, this”—Jia holds out one of the jars—“is a salve, to cleanse your wounds.  And this”—she holds out the other—“is a sealing cream, to keep the salve in and the water out.”

 

Loki makes a face.  “I thought you said the water will infect my wounds.”

 

“It will.”

 

“Implying that the water _will_ go in my wounds.”

 

“That’s why I’ll be using a sealing cream.  So it doesn’t.”

 

“Do my bandages even need to come off?”  Loki asks incredulously.

 

“Oh, no, I just wanted to see you naked,” Jia says.  Loki’s face falls while Jia rolls her eyes. “Of _course_ they need to come off!  Now relax.  _I_ ’ll be gentle, but the salve and the cream might sting.”

 

Loki is still reeling from Jia’s sarcasm.  He’s no use at all, with his mind going to places it shouldn’t after that little comment, so Jia has to physically force him to sit back against the pillow in a slight recline before getting to work.

 

In a weird trance, Loki watches her as she removes first the patches all over his torso.  He knows there is a number of them, but he really isn’t paying attention — not to anything but Jia’s concentration, her gentleness like she promised, the lightness of her touch barely grazing his skin.

 

Jia senses the power of his gaze.  She smirks.

 

“Afraid I might disappear?”

 

Loki saw how the corner of her mouth twitched up.  Why he’s staring so hard, he doesn’t know, but he also couldn’t understand why he was being so timid earlier about taking his tunic off so maybe up is just down today.

 

Jia casts a quick glance up at him, the smirk still on her face.  Loki swallows air.

 

Once all the patches are off, Jia begins coating each wound with the salve.  Most of the wounds have started to scar, but a few are still open.  Nevertheless, Jia is careful with each scratch, even more so when she tops the wounds with a layer of the sealing cream.  The cream coagulates once it makes contact with the wounds, sealing them temporarily.  Neither the salve nor the cream stung Loki, thankfully, but they both have a cooling effect.

 

The process is quite pleasant, really.  It makes Loki feel… like he’s really being cared for.

 

Next, the bandages.

 

“Sit up a little?”  Jia instructs him.

 

It’s been so quiet for a few minutes that Loki has to snap back into awareness.  With one arm, he pushes himself to sit up, while Jia reaches under his torso, trying to find where the bandages start.  When she does, she pulls it around, over, under, slowly, carefully. Her hands are deft, methodical, like she knows which parts of Loki’s body are hurting the most.

 

“You seem to know where you’re going,” he comments.

 

The corners of Jia’s mouth slowly rise.  When she meets his eyes, he tenses.

 

“Who do you think has been dressing your wounds since you arrived?”

  
  


 

 

Once the wounds are cared for, Jia helps Loki don some slippers and a white linen robe, the kind reserved for guests at Kay-Jia.  The slippers are odd on his feet, but the robe’s fabric is smooth against his skin.  It’s neat enough, but it’s not built for Loki: where it’s supposed to reach down to the ankles, it stops at the middle of Loki’s lower legs.  Jia teases him for making the robe look unfashionable.

 

She helps him stand.  When he’s up on his feet, he wobbles.

 

Jia holds out her right arm.  “Hold onto me, and tightly. The guest bathhouse is near but you haven’t walked for almost a moon.  We must be careful.”

 

Loki’s head pounds as they head out.  He’s stressed and a bit uneasy, and on top of that he’s hungry.  At the same time, he’s fighting to prepare himself mentally for the world he’s about to meet.  If what he suspects is correct, it’s a world stranger than he can imagine, a world that might not help ease him into its old-new, new-old dynamic.  And because he was right when he suspected that the Tesseract stranded him on Earth…

 

When the door slides open, five female servants in matching black dresses greet him and Jia.  They bow at the same time. For a moment, Loki is thrown back to Asgard, memories of his time as a _prince_ , of subjects bowing to his royalty, flood his mind’s eye.  He wonders how the servants know to bow to him, but he realizes soon that it’s not him they’re bowing to.

 

“We’re here to assist you, my lady,” one of the servants state.  All of them have their eyes on Jia, the one to whom the act of respect was directed.

 

“Oh good,” Jia says, relieved.  “We’re heading to the guest bathhouse.  Stay close, will you?  Our guest is all left feet.”

 

Loki can’t describe the emotion he’s feeling right now, but it’s somewhere between awe and wonder, as the servants fall behind him and Jia in two neat columns, with a healthy distance separating themselves from their… lady?  He ponders all of that — servants bowing to Jia, obeying her every word, _my lady_ — until his environment pulls him back.

 

The hallway outside his room is long, with a left turn ahead.  Floors of mahogany.  Seven rooms on either side of the hall, each with a paper door; he was right about paper being used as building material.  Huge pots of plants dot every other wall.  _So much_ wood.

 

They make the left turn into a short hallway — much shorter, there are only three doors on either side — and Loki’s mouth hangs open.

 

They're now in the courtyard outside Loki’s window, and there is so much all at once.  Clusters of identical cream-colored buildings line the courtyard. The roofing in particular appeals to him the most: rich teal, proud and gabled, sweeping upward at the corners.  Through some windows and more exits, he sees even more buildings all around.  He risks a mild headache squinting at the architectures in the distance.  He doesn’t notice everyone in the courtyard staring at him.

 

Most of the people in Kay-Jia, although all of them know that they have a foreigner in their midst, have not seen him in person.  So when they do, the guards slow in their patrol, the gardeners ignore the dead trees and bushes, servants stop working entirely.  They take their time ogling him, as well as the funny way he’s wearing the robe (it looks so awkward on him!).  Bigger and a full head taller than Jia, they hide their snickers at the dumbfounded way that Loki is observing the court while clutching her arm — a bumbling giant, if they’ve ever seen one.

 

Jia looks back at him, at the thin robe he’s wearing.

 

“Cold?” she asks, knowing full well what the healers discovered of him, that his body, apparently, is always cold.

 

Loki shakes his head, unable to look away from everything.

 

Finally, the party reaches the guest bathhouse.  Upon setting their feet inside, they immediately lean into the heat, vapor, mist.  Loki doesn’t stop himself from inhaling the intoxicating blended scent of multiple aromas: lavender, eucalyptus, jasmine, and something _earthy_ that he can’t figure out but finds alluring all the same.

 

They make their way farther in, winding up in a spacious hall where more servants, women _and_ men, dressed in black flutter about.  Some are carrying towels; others are cleaning the walls, the floors.  A staircase leads to an upper level where more servants walk about attending to the room.

 

“Ah, here we are.”  Jia stops in the center of the hall.  She pats Loki’s hand.  “There’s where you’ll be infected.”

 

Loki glances down at her.  Jia motions to their left.  If Loki’s jaw could hit the floor, it would break right through.

 

An open hot spring closed off by huge rocks lays calm and inviting.  Jia guides him closer, helping him take the single step down to the extended platform that sets the spring apart from the rest of the bathhouse.  The water is milky, perfumed vapor rising from the surface in wispy clouds.  It takes all of Loki’s poise to stop himself from diving into the pool.

 

A male servant approaches Jia and Loki.  In his hands are two towels, neatly folded, and a set of clothes.

 

“For the guest, my lady.”  He gives them to Jia with a reverent bow.

 

Jia takes the stack.  “Will the clothes fit our very special guest?”

 

“They are the biggest ones we could find in both bathhouses,” the servant says.  “They once fit your uncle.”

 

Jia beams.  Her uncle Guolai used to be heavy-set which, coupled with his tall height, made him look like an amateur _sumo_ wrestler from Meiji — that is, before he went on a diet.  Loki might look off in these old clothes, but at least they’ll fit.

 

“Perfect.”  Jia hands the stack to Loki who hasn’t stopped ogling the hot spring.  “These are for you.”

 

Loki breaks his attention away from the water to observe what Jia has given him.  He opens his mouth, then closes it right back up.

 

Jia searches his face.  “Is there anything else you need?”

 

“I…” Loki begins a sentence that has no end.

 

Meanwhile, the servants, the five women and one man, exchange looks.  They might be hearing things, but it seems Loki just spoke in their—

 

“Where will you be while I bathe?” he asks, sending the servants into different states of astonishment. _The foreigner knows our tongue!_

 

Jia smirks, smug.  “Why, did you want me to join you?”

 

Loki presses his mouth in a thin line.  Since he opened his eyes, Jia keeps asking him weird questions that under other circumstances sounds like flirtation.  With her though, it’s just teasing, and it gets under Loki’s skin so easily he wonders when he became so sensitive to words when he is literally the god of mischief.  Or maybe it’s just Jia.

 

Who knows for sure.  After all, up is the new down.

 

“I’m teasing,” Jia justifies herself.  “If you need anything, just ask someone.  I’ll be nearby.”

 

Jia leaves him on the platform.  Two of her servants begin to close the doors to the spring when Loki speaks again.

 

“But where will you be?” Loki asks, because _nearby_ is too vague a location for him in the vastness of this place.

 

And because deep inside, he doesn’t want Jia to leave.  Because, even though she gets under his skin so effortlessly, her presence brings him comfort.  Jia, who opened her home to him, a homeless god, a stranger, a criminal.  At least when she’s around, he doesn’t have to think about… everything before.  Has he become attached?  Absolutely not, not this soon.  Dependent, more like.  He isn’t going to tell her that though.

 

Jia makes no note if she senses his unease.

 

“I’ll just be in my office,” she tells him, a reassuring smile on her face.  “I’ve got a letter to write.”

 

The doors to the hot spring close, leaving Loki alone with himself… the only person in this world he doesn’t want to be with right now.

  
  


 

 

_To the king of Hanwoo, Enero, house of Rey —_

 

_Your highness,_

 

_I pray that this letter finds you well.  I am writing to you from Kay-Jia, on the morning after the winter’s melt.  This message contains sensitive information. I entreat you to read it in private, and burn it as soon as you have committed it to memory._

 

_Twenty-three days ago, a foreigner from a faraway land was brought to my court.  My servants found him on the peak of Mar-So Pass, injured and half-dead. Since then, my household has worked hard to nurse him back to life.  Today, I am thankful because he finally opened his eyes, but he is still weak.  It might be a while before we can pronounce him healthy._

 

_Still, we will continue to nurse him.  Moreover, I endeavor to make this foreigner my responsibility and mine alone.  I will learn more about him, and I vow to introduce him to life here in your kingdom and welcome him as our own.  If he should make a mistake, grave or not, I will answer to your grace on his behalf._

 

_I apologize for not informing you of him soon enough.  I took it upon myself to wait until the foreigner has awoken to tell you about him, lest I waste your time if he did not.  Please consider this if and when you decide to meet him._

 

_Please feel free to share this message with her majesty and his highness, but only with them.  However, should you choose to share it with others whom you trust, I am in no position to protest._

 

_I will wait eagerly for your response, whether it is a letter or a visit.  May the dragon live long._

 

_Jia, house of Zhou_

  


Gently, Jia blows on the parchment, urging the ink to dry.  She’s careful not to disturb the ink strokes too much.  Momentarily, she sets the letter aside to search for materials to package it.

 

The words in the letter have been sitting on Jia’s heart for twenty-three days.  She really did want to tell the king about her guest.  Even earlier this morning, outside the throne room, was a perfect opportunity to tell him about the foreigner in their midst.  But she had to hold her tongue, for etiquette’s sake, sure, but also for two things: she hadn't wanted to send a messenger out in harsh winter, and she quite enjoyed housing a secret.

 

She peruses around her office for sealing wax, a spoon, and an envelope.  The room is honestly a mess, but with her job outside of the court, it makes sense for the shelves to burst with books, notes, empty parchment pads, and for drawers and chests to overflow with various tools and supplies.  It smells like dust and knowledge, teetering between therapeutic and musty.  In her defense, plenty of the documents in this office is her father’s, who was both a scholar and a poet, since the office was originally his.

 

Thankfully, he had it built on the topmost floor of the library tower in the main house, with a high ceiling and a tall window that provides a view of the main house’s backyard: a natural pond, with a stone bridge over the water, the banks overshadowed by the biggest cherry blossom tree in the court.  In the spring, it’s picturesque.

 

But it isn’t spring, and she really needs that sealing wax.

 

“How can there be no sealing wax in an office...” she mutters to herself.

 

Finally, she finds a kit tucked between a thick book on war strategy and a scroll genealogy of the people of the Ifugao District.  She brings it to her desk, grabbing a long envelope in a nearby drawer.  The ink has dried by now; she folds the letter and inserts it carefully into the length of the envelope, some empty space left at the top.

 

She melts a spoon of grey wax granules above a candle.  Folding the top of the envelope over the front, she pours the wax over the flap to seal it.  After several moments, she takes the seal in the kit and presses it into the wax.

 

The side profile of a wolf’s head rises from the embossed seal, the sigil of the Zhou family.  Every family who has an important role in the palace is required to have a sigil, usually an animal, sometimes a flower, or another symbol entirely, accompanied by a specific color unique to the family.  For example, the royal family’s sigil is a dragon; vermillion belongs to them.  Grey belongs to the Zhou.

 

Jia glances outside the window.  The spindly branches of the cherry blossom tree hangs over the pond, blossom-less and a bit sad.  Jia can’t wait for spring, for that tree to come to life again.  She can say the same thing about a certain someone.

 

Upon leaving the tower, Jia calls for a guard to bring the letter to the palace.  From the main courtyard, she watches as the letter departs on horseback.  A breeze combs through the court.  She rubs her arms for warmth as she makes her way back to the guest bathhouse.

  
  


 

 

Loki has spent perhaps twenty minutes soaking in the spring, but to his worn out body, it feels like an hour.  Like Jia said, the sealing cream is preventing the water from affecting his wounds; he’s hyper-aware of the spots on his torso that the water isn’t touching.  Still, he doesn’t want to leave the spring’s embrace.  He is so relaxed here.  He can’t remember the last time he was.

 

His mind wanders.  If he has really been here in Kay-Jia for over three weeks, it certainly doesn’t seem like it.  New York is still fresh on his mind.  The chaos of the battle.  The destruction, the violence. He was savage, fully accepting of the catastrophe he was raging.  All he could see was red; he was ready to plunge an entire planet into darkness.  A part of him, small but ever-present, wonders why… why he couldn’t control himself then.

 

Loki sinks deeper into the water until it’s just right below his eyes.  An ache blossoms inside him — some people call it guilt.

 

Before New York, he was… subjected to a particular torment that would break even the strongest of wills.  But it didn’t break him.  Instead, it altered him, pushed him over an edge he never even knew existed.  He wonders if he should’ve been weaker.  Maybe New York would never have happened.  Maybe he would never have lost control.  Lost everything.

 

But then… he wouldn’t have gotten here.  No wood-and-paper buildings, no sweeping roofs.  No sealing creams for wounds.  No gentle hands, no teasing that both irritates and soothes.  Funny how all of that works.

 

Loki is way deep in his musings — his mind is in Asgard now — that he doesn’t hear the doors slide partially open.  He doesn’t notice Jia step in and squat down on the platform by the towels and clothes, flat on her feet, hugging her knees.  She lets out a breath through her nose, amused as she watches Loki soak in the water like a lobster.

 

Quietly, so she doesn't spook him, she asks, "Where are you right now, Loki?"

 

Much like the way he rises out of the water, Loki’s consciousness leaves the halls of Asgard to return to the guest bathhouse in Kay-Jia.  He turns his head to Jia, whose gentle smile greets him once again.

 

“Do you ever stop smiling?” he asks, genuinely curious and just a tad bit ruffled.

 

Jia fake-pouts.  “Does it bother you?”

 

Loki’s eyes linger on her mouth for a beat too long.  He doesn’t say anything, returning himself to the spring.

 

Jia inhales the fragrant scent rising from the water.  Loki observes her from the corner of his eyes: her eyes are closed, still smiling (of course), tranquil, pleased.

 

“I must ask the caretaker of this bathhouse to treat the hot spring in mine like this,” she mumbles.

 

Loki creases his eyebrows.  “You have your own?”

 

Jia opens her eyes.  “I do.”

 

 _Who is she?_  Why does she have her own bathhouse?  Why do the servants bow to her, acknowledge her with so much reverence, when she says she isn’t royalty?   _She must be a noblewoman_ , Loki surmises, _wedded to an aristocrat._   But that doesn’t make that much sense — Loki hasn’t seen a husband, and he would have shown up with Jia when Loki woke up.   _So she is unmarried?  Maybe she is the daughter of a noble then.  But where have the parents been all this time?_  So many questions.  He makes a note to ask later.

 

Instead of explaining himself, Loki pulls one of his hands out of the water.  He stares at it, wondering if… If the Allspeak works, maybe…?

 

He summons his magic, or tries to, but it’s faint, too faint.  It’s there, he hasn’t lost it, but it’s weak, so weak, like the embers of a dying fire.  Loki’s heart drops, his eyes suddenly stinging.

 

His magic…

 

Jia tilts her head, surveying him stare at his hand.  “What are you doing?”

 

Loki makes sure that when he blinks the tears out of his eyes, Jia doesn’t see.  He washes his face, letting the hot water sting him, hoping that if his eyes are red, Jia thinks it’s from the water.

 

He shakes his head.  “Nothing.”

 

Jia regards him for a few moments.  It’s not nothing.

 

“Well,” she takes a deep breath, “when you feel like you’ve washed away twenty-three days of grime, meet me out in the hall so we can return to your room together.  I have to redress your wounds.”

  
  


 

 

It seems the hot spring soothed much of Loki’s soreness.  He didn’t need Jia’s assistance anymore to walk back to his room (even though his walk is no more than a hobble), but she still stays right beside him, making fun of how he looks in her uncle's clothes.

 

None of the servants from earlier is with them, but they find them in the hallway outside Loki’s room.  Again, they bow to Jia.

 

“We cleaned the guest’s room, my lady,” one of them informs.  “And the guest's clothes have been washed.  They're out drying now.”

 

“Thank you so much for working hard,” Jia replies, to Loki’s surprise.  Thanking people, _servants_ , for their hard work is unheard of to him.  “Has the food been prepared?”

 

“Yes, my lady, it’s all been laid out in the dining area here.”

 

“Could you bring them here instead—”

 

“No,” Loki cuts her off.

 

Jia cranes her neck slowly up at him.  The servants, meanwhile, have tensed at his interruption.

 

“No?” Jia repeats.

 

“I just mean… If the food is already in the dining area...”

 

Even though that’s not what Loki meant at all.  He means he doesn’t want to be cooped up in his room anymore.  He’s been in there for twenty-three whole days, and the gravity of the hours he’s spent inside burdens him.  Plus, it would be nice to see more of Kay-Jia.

 

Jia assesses him.  Loki got a taste of the world outside his room, and he already wants more.  She understands.

 

“Alright,” she concedes, turning to the court-ladies with an apologetic smile.  “Keep it warm for him, then.”

 

The servants give her a bow of acknowledgment.  There is so much bowing here, Loki observes.  Not even in Asgard do the servants bow this often (then again, there was the possibility that they just didn’t bow often to him).

 

One of the ladies opens the door for Jia.  The group doesn’t leave until Jia and Loki have entered his room.

 

The room, as the servants said, has been cleaned.  They failed, however, to mention that they have brought in an actual bed-frame for Loki.  On it rests a new tatami mat, as well as a new blanket and two new pillows.  They also brought in a small closet where, over the doors, Loki’s armor hangs.  An upholstered chair sits by the window, with three small books sitting in it.  They’ve also readied new patches and bandages as well as scissors and clean towels on the desk next to the jars of medicine and Loki’s medical file.

 

“Welcome home,” Jia jokes, but only a little.  Her servants have outdone themselves here.  The room can easily pass for a flat.

 

Loki clears his throat.  “The books might be left unread.”

 

 _The books might be left unread._   It’s his own pathetic way of saying thanks.

 

“I guess you’ll just have to learn how to read Yuan, then,” Jia grins up at him.  “Now, take off your shirt.”

 

For the next several minutes, Jia redresses Loki’s wounds.  She’s just as gentle as she was earlier.  When she finishes cleaning off the salve and cream from earlier, she presents another jar of medicine to Loki — an antiseptic with a metallic smell.  She moistens a clean towel with it before mildly dabbing it onto Loki’s wounds.

 

Much like earlier, Loki watches her in a daze while she works, only he is… more present this time.

 

“You said you’ve been caring for my wounds since I first came here,” he says.

 

Jia hums in response.

 

“I have wounds all over my body.”

 

“Indeed.”

 

The corner of Loki’s mouth rises.  “So you’ve seen my body.”

 

Jia’s hands pause.  She looks up at Loki through her eyelashes.

 

“Every.  Single. Part.”

 

Loki’s face falls.  Then, Jia bursts out laughing, hiding her face behind her hands.  Loki blinks at her rather stupidly as her body convulses in unadulterated joy.

 

“Of course I haven’t seen _all_ of your body!”  Jia shakes her head in mirth.  “The healers elected to tend to your upper torso and everything below the knee.  We left alone where the sun doesn’t shine.”

 

Never mind that Jia’s laugh sounds like a song, and that her joy rivals the sun in its brilliance.  Loki vows to get her one day for messing with him non-stop since he woke up.  Even a retort would work — he just can’t keep losing out like this.

  
  


 

 

Jia guides Loki to the dining area for guests, which is just the next building over from the guest _wing,_  as it turns out.  It’s a sizable hall, with high ceilings and potted plants hanging from the beams and sitting against the walls.  The long table in the middle of the room can fit a feast.

 

The cooks have prepared for Loki a few meals comprised of soft ingredients, like vegetables and tofu, bowls of cut fruit, as well as the soup that Jia promised.  A welcome change for the cooks since they’ve been puréeing everything for Loki for over three weeks.

 

He and Jia sit across from one another at the head of the table.  Loki’s eyes roam over every bowl (there are four) when his eyes land on the empty plate right under his chin.  To its left is a short, stout spoon; to its right, however, are a pair of sticks.

 

Jia sees Loki’s eyes linger on the chopsticks.  She clears her throat to catch his attention.  Then, she grabs the chopsticks and teaches Loki how to use it.  When he tries it for the first time, he gets it right.

 

Loki has already pooled vegetables and tofu on his plate when he realizes Jia hasn’t moved.

 

“You’re not eating,” he mutters.

 

Jia nods.  “This is just for you.  And anyway, I have to go in a little bit.”

 

Loki frowns.  She’s always leaving right when he’s about to begin.

 

“To write another letter?”

 

Jia chuckles.  “No. One of the wolves gave birth today.  I need to check on the litter.”

 

For a moment, Loki wonders again if his Allspeak is glitching.   _Wolves?_

 

“There are wolves here?”

 

“Of course,” Jia smiles.  “The mountains are full of them.  The ones here in Kay-Jia, though, descend from wolves who were handbred right here at home.”

 

Alright.  Crazy woman has wolves.

 

Jia shrugs sheepishly.  “It’s kind of a family thing.”

 

There’s a reason why the Zhou sigil is a wolf.  Aside from the multitude of symbolism, the first person in Hanwoo to befriend a wolf is a Zhou.  That was ages ago; since then, other people have come to partner themselves with wolves.  The army special forces, for example, have been training wolves to fight alongside soldiers since the department’s inception.

 

Loki nods, resuming his meal.  The vegetable dishes are so tasty, well-seasoned and just a hint of spicy, and the tofu partners with them well.  But the soup — it’s savory, fragrant, comforting.  Jia was right. In the same way the hot spring soothed Loki’s body, the soup is soothing his spirit.

 

Jia is satisfied when she sees the soup’s effect on Loki.  She bids her farewell then.

  
  


 

 

The wolf pups slumber beside their mother in their quarters.  At first sight, Jia falls in love with the precious litter.  She tries not to disturb the family, but she can’t help cooing at the view.

 

“Would you like to pick one for yourself, my lady?” the household handler asks.  He’s one of the oldest people in Kay-Jia, having cared for Zhou wolves since Jia’s father’s youth.

 

Jia purses her lips.  “I’m not sure. I’ve never had to care for one as my own.”

 

“Consider it, my lady,” the handler urges on.  “They’re beautiful, and their loyalty is priceless.  A companion for life.”

 

Jia hums, thinking.  “Will you pick one for me, then?  I trust your experience.”

 

Moments pass as the handler decides which pup it’ll be.  He selects the one sleeping closest to its mother’s hind legs.

 

“Have you got a name for him?”

 

“It’s a him, then?” Jia pauses for a bit.  She picks the first word that comes to mind.  “I’ll call him Po.”

 

The handler says a blessing over the pup on Jia’s behalf.  It’s really a wonder she’s never had to care for her own wolf; even her mother had one.  Needless to say, Jia is excited.  Better late than never.

  
  


 

 

Loki doesn’t see Jia again until nighttime.

 

When he finished his meal earlier, he spent some time in the courtyard outside his room.  He couldn’t stay long, though, because he could feel everyone’s eyes on him.

 

The next several hours Loki spent in his room.  He left the window open, a way for him to keep one foot out in the world, while he familiarized himself with the room.  He played with the jars of medicine, inspecting the content of each container.  He skimmed the pad of parchment on the desk.  He can’t read it, but he allowed himself to admire the script: quick, decisive strokes, every symbol as elaborate as the next.  Maybe he’ll take Jia up on her challenge and learn... what did she call it?  Yuan?

 

After that, he took a nap.  He wakes up only because someone is calling his name outside the door.

 

“Loki?  Loki, it’s Jia.  Are you awake?”

 

He sits up immediately, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.  His room is pitch-black save for the faint glow of torches in the courtyard.

 

“I’m awake,” he responds into the dark.

 

A pause.  Then, “Are you decent?”

 

Loki rolls his eyes.  He stands to slide the door open a little.

 

“Good evening,” Jia greets, a lamp in hand.

 

She's changed out of her silk hanfu and into a light-pink dress.  She’s as radiant as a spring day.

 

“Have you had supper?”

 

“I haven’t.”

 

Jia’s face breaks out into a slow grin.  “Fantastic!”

 

She slides the door further open, revealing a small staff of servants carrying a number of meals and a few tables.  Loki doesn’t have time to understand as Jia pushes him inside and back onto the bed.  His eyes go haywire trying to follow the lightning speed at which the servants implant a dining area in his room.  In mere seconds, a dinner spread is set up: next to Loki’s bed are three small tables of meals (both soft and hard) and drinks fit for, well, not just two people.  Jia places the lamp on the table furthest away from the food.  The servants leave just as quickly as they entered.

 

Jia takes the chair by the still-open window and places it across the tables from Loki.  She takes the books to the desk before sitting.

 

“Let’s eat well!” she beams, diving into the spread.

 

Dinner is muted, for the most part.  In the time and space provided by the meal, Loki decides to learn.

 

“So,” he begins, “how many people live in this village?”

 

Jia looks up at him from her rice bowl.  She eats a mouthful of rice and vegetables before answering Loki’s question with another question.

 

“Did you say ‘village’?”

 

Loki nods.  “The people who found me… I think they said they’re from a village.  It’s this one, is it not?”

 

“Ah,” Jia says upon realizing.  “Here, ‘village’ just means anywhere you live, whether that’s in the valley or on the mountain.”

 

Loki furrows his eyebrows.  “And… So… Where is…?”

 

“We’re on the mountain,” Jia smiles.

 

“Where I was found?”

 

“No, that one is different,” Jia explains.  “You were found in Mar-So Pass.  It’s a day’s travel to get there.”

 

 _Those people who found me… traveled a whole day in the snow…_ It's unbelievable.  Complete strangers rescued Loki from a snowstorm in the mountain and fought through a winter that can rival Jotunheim just so he can end up here, in a well-furnished room, supping with a noble (is she?), inhumanly attractive (her jests aside, Jia _is_ horrifyingly ethereal) woman who's essentially presented her home to treat as his own.  Loki can't help the strange warmth that spreads in his chest — some people call it gratitude.

 

"If Kay-Jia isn't a village," he wonders, "then… what is it?"

 

Jia gives him a small smile.  "Kay-Jia is a court.  A private residence, if you will."

 

Loki raises his eyebrows.  " _Your_ residence?"   _Everything here is hers?_

 

"That's why it's called Kay-Jia," Jia says, nodding.  "It just means 'belongs to Jia'. Every court in Hanwoo is named like that, like my friend Kai, whose court is called Kay-Kai and, yes, I do make fun of it often."

 

"Every court in what?" Loki repeats.

 

" _Hanwoo,_ " Jia begins, "is the kingdom where we live."

 

_Kingdom?_

 

"There is a king."  Loki's voice is faraway.

 

"It needs a king," Jia says.  "Hanwoo is huge.  It's groups of different people spread across a grand valley and an even grander mountain range, not to mention the pass.  We've all been here for as long as we know.  It helps to have a leader."

 

"Indeed," Loki agrees quietly.

 

They lapse into silence again.  Loki takes the time to observe Jia.  Her eating habits are interesting: she eats a lot, and fast.  It explains why they have so much food, but Loki isn't sure where the food is going since Jia's frame is tiny.  But he can't criticize, really.  Twenty-three days of being bedridden does not a good body make.  On top of that, he’s eating too slowly.

 

Loki breaks the silence again.

 

"So you head this court yourself?"

 

Jia nods, reaching for a sip of water.

 

Loki remembers the questions he wants to ask.  He picks one to answer all.

 

"You're unmarried?"

 

The smirk that grows on Jia's face is cocky.  Loki, unfortunately, is too busy eating slow to see it, nor expect what she says next.

 

"Would you like to change that?"

 

Loki chokes on what little food is in his mouth.  Jia laughs as she pours some water for him.  He gulps it down in one go.

 

He can't lose out like this.  Once he's calmed, he lets several dramatic seconds pass, waiting until Jia is busy with her food.

 

"Kay-Loki does sound better than Kay-Jia."

 

Jia stops.  She looks up at Loki.  She smiles slowly.

 

 _Ah_ , Jia thinks.  _He bites back_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * just to help w/ the setting, if this story took place in 2019, this chapter is around mid-january (so the week of january 13-19, this chapter would then be on january 13)  
> * which means the next chapter is gonna take place at the end of this same week :)  
> * medicine works differently round these parts  
> * the hot spring is definitely from scarlet heart ryeo
> 
> the songs that i have you guys listen to are gonna be impt later on!!! nothing too big ofc but i'll be using it for teh romance heh
> 
> thank you for reading & thank you for the kudos/bookmarks! the next chapter is more fluff, more flirting, & more realizations!!! see you then :D


	4. 三 first time for everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Horses. Wolves. Dragons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm gonna forgive myself for writing super long chapters bc k-drama episodes are 1+ hr long, i'm just bein consistent
> 
> \- **_A Lot Like Love_ by Baek A Yeon** \- _“On the fourth morning…”_  
>  \- **_마음의 말 (Words of Your Heart)_ by Kim Yeonji** \- _“Loki freezes when Jia takes his face in her hands…”_  
>  \- **_Say Yes_ by Loco, Punch** \- _“Jia approaches Loki and her entourage follows…”_

****In her letter to the king, Jia wrote that Loki’s recovery might take time.  But with the progress he’s made throughout the week, Jia is nothing short of amazed.

 

Her guest has been active.  By his second day of being awake, Loki takes it upon himself to practice walking short distances, starting with the hallway outside his room.  On the third day, before the break of dawn, he brings himself to the courtyard outside his room, taking in everything without worrying about other people.  That same day is when Jia finds out that he’s been exercising: on her way to leave the court for the palace, she saw him walking the perimeter of the inner courtyard twice.

 

He also goes by himself to the guest dining area every breakfast and lunch and dinner too when, some nights, Jia isn't able to dine with him in his room (like on the third and fifth nights, not that he’s keeping track).  The cooks have been instructed to slowly reintroduce whole foods to Loki’s system, but truth be told, he can handle most of it.

 

It’s one of the few interesting things about his other-worldliness.  He was comatose for almost a month, but he quickly learned to walk again.  His magic is weak, but he can digest hard foods.  The calibration of his body has been off and he’s learning to live with it just like everyone else is.

 

On the fourth morning when Loki takes to the inner courtyard, Jia is sitting in the near distance, watching him thoughtfully.  It really is impressive how fast he’s gaining strength.  She recalls what he said to her when he first woke up, that he’s a god, and while she’s never heard of him from any sacred book, she wonders if it’s somehow possible…?

 

If it is, he’s got to be the lousiest one.

 

“Good morning,” she calls out to him.

 

Loki turns around at her voice.  He’s been fiddling with a dead bush for a good minute now, fascinated by its spindly skeleton coated with icicles.  He must have looked odd; he swats at the bush like a fool.

 

Jia is leaning against the raised extended flooring of the guest wing.  She’s wearing some light colored dress — Loki can’t tell in the bluish darkness of early morning, when the sun has yet to rise over Hanwoo.  He ambles over to her.

 

“How long have you been watching me?”

 

“Long enough to see you befriend that bush,” Jia says, to Loki’s dismay.  “Did it tell you its name?  Has it told you what kind of berry it bears?”

 

Over the days, Loki has learned that there are only two ways to deal with Jia’s teasing: either confidently bite back or confidently change the subject.

 

Loki goes with the latter.  “Do you always wake up this early?”

 

“Only when I can feel the court bushes being bothered by guests.”

 

Loki rolls his eyes.  Jia chuckles.

 

“Yes, I always wake up this early.  I’m a very busy woman, you know.”

 

“I do not.”  Loki goes to lean against the flooring, leaving a good distance between him and her.  “What is it you do when you leave the court?”

 

Jia smiles cryptically.  “I just go to other courts.”

 

 _This early in the morning?_   Frankly, Loki has been pondering about what it is that Jia does.  For her to own an immense estate teeming with servants at her beck and call, all by herself.  She’s always surrounded by so many women… And if she goes to other courts before daybreak… Could she be…

 

“Do you… Are you a courtesan, by any chance?”

 

Jia cackles so loudly that it must have woken up the rest of Kay-Jia.

 

“That is, by far, the funniest thing you have ever said to me,” Jia sneaks in between her laugh.  “Though I can see why you would assume that.”

 

“So you aren’t?”

 

“If I were, would you accept my services?”

 

“I would sooner burn my hands.”

 

Jia laughs again.  A song.  Rival of the sun.  The god of chaos doesn’t stop the smile that blossoms on his face.

 

“You are so much more fun when you bite back,” Jia says wistfully.

 

In the hush that follows, Loki realizes his smile.  He wipes it off as quickly as it appeared.  Must be the off-calibration of his body.

 

“I’m thinking… It’s quite interesting.”  Jia looks up at him. “You have no facial hair.  You were asleep for over three weeks yet no hair appeared.”

 

Loki's Jotun nature, hairless, reflects his Asgardian form.  “I’m not from this world, remember.”

 

Jia thinks on that.  And then, because she doesn’t know how to answer, she asks instead, “Does your hair bother you?”

 

Loki meets her eyes, fully aware that she’s changing the subject, but she’s looking at his hair.  They cascade to his shoulders in subtle curls with just a hint of frizz.  It partially blocks his face, making him look somber and unfriendly.

 

Jia looks down at her dress.  It is a one-piece, tailored to fit her shape, so it doesn’t slack when she takes the ribbon off from its waist.

 

She pushes herself up to sit on the raised flooring, beckoning Loki to move to her front.  While she gathers some of his hair behind his head, Loki fights to close his eyes.  Jia is running her fingers so smoothly through his hair, hovering just above his scalp.  It stabilizes his breathing, his heartbeat, yet he can hear each pound in his ears.

 

Jia places her hands on Loki’s shoulders to peek around at her handiwork.  Loki’s hair is neater now, some of it tied up with the ribbon in a small knot behind his head, leaving the rest down.  More importantly, his face is no longer so hidden.

 

Jia smiles widely.  “Perfect.”

 

 _Perfect._ She doesn’t jump down from the flooring.   _Perfect._ Loki has to consciously move himself away from her.   _Perfect._ The seconds that pass by are silent, then Loki gazes up at her.

 

“You aren’t going to tell me what it is you do.”

 

Jia looks down before turning to Loki with a subtle smile.

 

“You know what, I’ll let you guess what I do.  It’ll be our little game.”  She stands.  “In the meantime, I must go.”

 

“To where?”

 

Loki can’t help but ask.  He can’t remember when he became so inquisitive, he used to keep his thoughts to himself.  Perhaps he’s still wary about Kay-Jia and Hanwoo, and Jia’s familiarity helps.  Whatever it was, when Jia takes a step away, a sort of emptiness grows in Loki’s chest.

 

“To find a customer who won’t burn his hands if I touch him.”

 

Jia laughing at herself as she walks off is the sound that fills the courtyard.  Loki watches her retreating back, unaware that, even with the emptiness, he’s smiling with all his teeth.

 

 

 

 

Throughout the week, the healers check in on Loki.  Healer Chien is the one who is always present (aside from Jia) at Loki’s check-ups.  She, too, is impressed by their guest’s inhuman healing, but most of it she attributes to Jia’s care.  Healer Chien and the other healers unanimously prescribe that Loki continue walking and getting more sunlight.  Jia undertakes this task as her personal responsibility.  Fortunately for Loki, on the fifth day, Jia is able to spend all morning with him.

 

She takes him to the main courtyard at the front of the court.  If Loki’s breath hitched at the sight of the inner courtyard, the main one renders him speechless.

 

The yard itself is concrete ground washed so brightly that Loki has to shield his eyes.  It’s flanked one one side by a long building painted a faded red, with many windows and an intensely imposing inclined teal roof; on the other side is a grand stone wall that spans around the estate.  The main entrance is a large wooden gate with an elegant archway above it.  In the middle of the arch is a statue of a wolf’s head with a gaping maw.  Loki is especially taken with the pond and the lotus pads and the koi.  He gawks, indifferent to the guards and servants’ curious eyes (and mumbles of _Is that Jia’s ribbon on his head?_ ).

 

The long red building, Jia says, is the welcome hall.  Sometimes, Jia receives guests of high value, so the hall serves as a neutral meeting place where she can receive their company.

 

While Jia shows him around the hall, a guard enters and gives her a letter from the palace.  Immediately, she tears into the letter.

 

“Speaking of guests of high value,” Jia says, waving the letter at Loki.

 

Loki leaves an ornate vase alone to walk over to Jia.

 

“Which one of your prized guests is reaching out?”

 

“The king.”

 

Loki does not see that coming at all. _Jia knows the king personally?_  is another question that doesn’t help Loki figure out what it is she really does, aside from learning that she is influential enough to receive a letter straight from the king’s desk… but how?

 

He tries to read the letter over her shoulder when he remembers he can’t read Yuan.

 

“What does the king say?”

 

The king is interested about Jia’s guest but makes no note that he wants to meet him, only encouraging Jia to uphold her vow and assuring her that only the queen and the prince know about him.  He also writes that the queen, as it turns out, _will_ pay her a visit at the end of the week.

 

“The queen is coming over,” Jia deadpans, her brain whirring.  “At the end of the week.”

 

 _And now the queen is coming._ Who _is Jia?_

 

“Why?”

 

“I’m not sure,” Jia answers.  “But we have to start preparing the court now.  Food, gifts — maybe the stables too. And I don’t know if I should receive them here or out in the garden.  It might be too cold, but the queen likes open spaces…”

 

“How are you close with royalty.”  Loki’s tone is between a question and a statement.

 

Jia pauses her rambling to shrug one shoulder at Loki.

 

“Who knows?  Nepotism?”

 

 

 

 

 

Jia spends all of the following day overseeing the court’s preparation for the queen’s arrival, a continuation of what has started the day before.  Because Loki has nothing else to do, he follows Jia around as she flies from one area of Kay-Jia to another.  He has to force himself to keep up with her agility — the woman is _brisk_ , her strides wide and her focus unbreakable — but it’s good for his body.

 

It’s also good for feeding his curiosity about the court.  His trailing after Jia means getting a tour of the place.  By the end of the day, he’s got it mostly mapped out.

 

Loki’s observation: Kay-Jia is _massive_.

 

The first section of the court that he and Jia cover is the stables.  It’s tucked deep in the back corner of the court, bordering a small forest that dips down the mountain’s slope.  A great building, it can easily house about twenty steed.  Inside are only ten, though, all magnificent and proud.  Nine of them are varying shades of brown but one is a beautiful, velvet grey.

 

“I assume the grey one is yours,” Loki comments.

 

“What gave it away?  Its uniqueness?”

 

Loki gives her a pointed gaze.  “Its dullness.”

 

Jia arches an eyebrow, pleased that Loki finally participates in her quips, before instructing the keepers of the stable to make room for the queen’s company.

 

It’s a ten-minute walk to the main courtyard, their next spot.  On the way, Jia thinks aloud.

 

“I must be honest,” she begins, making Loki turn to her, “I get antsy whenever I meet the queen.  Never mind that she’s the most powerful woman in the kingdom, I’m always only concerned about what to present to her.”

 

Loki waits for Jia to finish rambling.

 

“She’s a wonderful person, and I am not just saying that.  But what do you give someone who has everything she needs?”

 

“Perhaps something she wants,” Loki offers.

 

“Well, sure, but how can I know what she wants?”

 

Loki surveys Jia’s profile as they stroll.  “What do _you_ want?”

 

Jia is taken aback, quite literally.  She stops walking, racking her brain for an answer… aghast that she can’t find one.

 

“I… I don’t know.”  When she finds Loki’s eyes, she’s not smiling.  “I think— I haven’t wanted...”

 

 _...anything in a long time_.  This is odd, and a little wrong, and it’s like the court is judging her for it.  Jia is suddenly too aware of her skin, of Loki’s gaze, of the chill breeze that sweeps across the court.

 

Loki maps her, noting the visible way in which Jia is trying _so hard_ not to be so uncomfortable.  He didn’t mean to disturb her.  And seeing her like this, unsettled and out of her element, disturbs him.

 

“Which means her majesty probably doesn’t want anything,” he raps, trying to bring warmth to the atmosphere.  “So you don’t have to get her anything.  Good for you.”

 

Jia stares at him.  She only shakes her head, a mild smile on her face.

 

“You have much to learn.”

 

She walks past him, not waiting to see if he follows.  The look in Loki’s eyes as he watches her drift away is indiscernible.  He follows after her soon enough.

 

When they reach the main courtyard, Jia instructs a few of the servants to go to Ifugao, the king and the queen’s native district, to purchase something for the queen.  She lets them decide what to get, hoping that in the queen’s benevolence, she graciously accepts whatever Jia gives her.

 

Afterwards, Jia and Loki visit the court kitchen, an annex by the storehouse, both of which are across the guest wing.  Upon entering, the scent of various meals hits them all at once.  The kitchen is extremely hectic, the cooks buzzing about, shouting over the sizzle and the steam.  Loki is surprised not one of them topples any of the giant pots on the ground.

 

“I don’t have to ask how the cooking is going, do I?” Jia addresses Kay-Jia’s head cook, a small woman spry for her old, old age.

 

Jia takes a nearby ladle and attempts to taste whatever is simmering in the closest pot, but not before the head cook snatches the ladle and swats at her hand.  The look Jia gives her is of pure disbelief.

 

“Auntie!  I just wanted a taste!”  Jia whines, to Loki’s amusement.  He hasn’t pegged Jia for a whiner.

 

“ _Aiyah_ , Jia!  Leave — you and your friend!”  The head cook shoos her and Loki out of the kitchen.  “Don’t be a glutton, you’ll have it tomorrow.”

 

Once the two of them are back outside, the head cook shuts the door.  They even hear her bar it.

 

“That was interesting,” Loki comments.  Although his mind is on the cook’s words: _You and your friend_.  Are he and Jia friends?

 

Jia scrunches her face.  “Ah, she’s very protective of the kitchen.  She’s done that to me since my youth.”

 

“You must have been insufferable.”

 

“Well, I’m willing to be swatted just to get a taste of her cooking.  She made your soup, you know.”

 

Well, now, Loki understands.

 

“So the food is taken care of,” he states, making Jia chuckle.  Together they leave the annex.  “You say she’s been here since you were young, so she’s been here long before.”

 

“That’s correct,” Jia says.  “Auntie became head cook under my grandfather.  In fact, all of the head caretakers here precede me.”

 

That just tacks another question on Loki’s ever-growing list.  From the way Jia says it, Kay-Jia sounds older than time.  So Hanwoo must be ancient too.  It’s amazing how Loki, thousands of years old, has never heard of it until now.  First time for everything.

 

 

 

Loki experiences another _first_ that night.

 

Jia, once again, transforms his room into a dining area.  Tonight, most of the meals that they partake are hard.  Soft foods like tofu, cut fruit, and soup are still part of the ensemble, but the cooks figured that Loki’s improved ability means he can begin to digest more hard foods.

 

Aside from the soup, Loki learns that he really likes tofu and the sweet green fruit that Jia calls _mihoutao_.  He’s also partial to rice especially with soup, after he copies Jia when she drizzles soup over her rice bowl.  Really, the only way he learns anything new is by watching Jia (which only gives her more ammunition with which to tease him).

 

After supper, Jia goes to leave when she suddenly stops at the door.  She turns around.

 

“Do you wash your teeth after your meals?”

 

Loki, who is fluffing his pillows, is caught by surprise.  Come to think of it, he doesn’t.  His Asgardian — well, Jotun — nature comes with many benefits, like having a built-in cleaning system (that obviously doesn’t cover the _outside_ of his body).

 

“I don’t have to,” he says.

 

Jia tilts her head, thinking deeply about how. _Is it possible that he really is what he says he is…?_

 

“Well, then, what about your face?” she amends.  “How often do you wash it?”

 

When Loki shakes his head — _Not at all_ — Jia’s mouth falls open.  Immediately, she exits Loki’s room and sends for a court-lady.  Loki moves to sit on his bed, too befuddled to say anything.  Several moments pass before the door slides open to reveal Jia holding a tiny ceramic pot, two glass bottles, and a towel.

 

“It’s my fault for not telling you sooner,” Jia says as she sits beside Loki on the bed.  “But better late than never.”

 

The ceramic pot, she explains, contains _lu hui_ extract, a cold opaque gel that smells herbal.  One of the glass bottles is fragrant rose water.  In the other bottle is fermented rice water, strongly sour.  Jia dampens the towel with the rice water.

 

“Before you use these,” Jia begins, “you should wash your face with water.  But because it’s late, you can start that tomorrow.  Now, then.”

 

Loki freezes when Jia takes his face in her hands.  She swipes at his skin in delicate, consistent motions — single strokes at each cheek, up the bridge of his nose, his forehead, his chin, then his jaw.  With his face this close to her, Loki has no choice but to stare.

 

Jia… glows.  Perhaps it is the gold of the lamplight, but she is truly radiant.  Her cheeks are rosy because they just are, and her skin is smooth but she has the most subtle smile lines around her mouth and there is a _tiny_ white scar under her left eye.  And it turns out her lips pout naturally.

 

Loki feels her fingertips under his jaw barely ghosting against his skin.  He gulps at the almostness of the contact.  He is mesmerized: when Jia is wordlessly, completely _focused_ , like right now, it’s as if the world doesn’t exist until she finishes.  She always finishes.

 

“What is all this for?” Loki asks, to wake himself up.

 

“This.”  Jia shows him the towel, now dirty with what Loki can’t believe came off of his face.  “Gross, isn’t it?  Six days with no cleansing.  That’s all you.”

 

She then scoops out from the pot a generous amount of gel.  She slathers it all over Loki’s face using the same motions with which she cleaned his face.  Loki likes its cooling sensation, until the fumes sting his eyes.  He flings his hands to his face, pressing hard against closed eyes.

 

“Oh, yes, it does that,” Jia smiles while biting her lip.  “Sorry, I shouldn’t have put it near your eyes.”

 

“If you’re doing this on purpose...” Loki mumbles, wincing.

 

“I promise I’m not,” Jia giggles.  “It’ll be alright.  Look at me?”

 

When he does, Jia wipes the tears from his face with her thumbs.  She’s amused, mumbling _Sorry, I’m sorry_ while catching every teardrop.  As quickly as it came, though, the sting goes away, leaving Loki with a well-nourished skin.  Just as he begins to relish it, Jia splashes him with the rose water.

 

Anger flashes in Loki’s eyes.

 

“Why you—”

 

Jia raises her hands, palms up, _giggling_ — her way of defusing him.  His anger dissipates, leaving Loki awkwardly hanging.

 

“Sorry!” she grins.  “That was rose water.  To mask the smell of the rice water.”

 

She makes a big gesture of _smelling_ him.  It’s so dramatic and goofy that Loki can only wonder: is she really not afraid of him?

 

“You smell sweet,” Jia smiles, her eyes sparkling in the lamplight.  She hands the products to Loki.  “Use these well.  I’ll see you tomorrow!”

 

She takes the dirty towel and the lamp with her when she goes, leaving Loki in the dark.  About everything.

 

 

 

 

 

The next day, Jia gets up earlier than usual to dress for the queen’s arrival.  The hanfu she picked out the night before — a cotton two-piece, generous sleeves on the light-blue jacket and a graceful light-peach skirt, with intricately embroidered flowers, and a silk white sash wrapped around the waist — hangs over her wardrobe.  It is exquisite, one of her more formal attires, fit to welcome a queen.

 

Before donning the dress, Jia styles her hair first, pulling it up in a subtly hanging bun atop her head while leaving her fringes loose to frame her face.  She sticks a white hairpin in the shape of a chrysanthemum through the bun to secure it.  When she puts on the dress piece by piece, she takes her time, relishing in the feel of the fabric, the method in the art.

 

As Jia makes her way out of the main house, she thinks back to last night when she taught Loki how to care for his skin.  There’s a part of her that feels like she might be too imposing, like maybe she shouldn’t rush Loki into Hanwoo’s customs.  But she means well, and if Loki doesn’t want to participate, he would be upfront about it and she would understand or at least try to.

 

But another part of Jia says that everything she has done, and everything she is willing to do, is all because she wants to show him a bit of herself.  In every meal, every fragrance, every person and building in the court lies her shadow.Whenever she teaches or tells him something new, she is risking putting herself out in the open.  Her own brand of vulnerability.

 

So when Jia walks to the inner courtyard and does not find Loki there, she almost panics.

 

“Is he—” she gulps, fearing the worst.  “Is he gone…?”

 

Not another soul stirs in the court.  The wind whispers words of comfort but Jia isn’t moved.  Her eyes flash to the window of Loki’s room.  Is he still there?  Has he left already, fed up by Jia’s overbearing personality?  Before the worry gets the worst of her, she takes a deep, deep breath and enters the guest wing.  She exhales only when she reaches his room.

 

The rush of relief that floods Jia’s body when she hears Loki tossing in his bed is almost embarrassing.

 

 

 

 

Loki stirs in his sleep.  The inside of his eyelids are bright red, rousing him awake, but he doesn’t move.  Instead he squints just a bit at the ceiling: the sun is pouring freely into his room, clothing it in bright daylight.

 

But Loki closes the window every night.  Which means someone else opened it.

 

He might have an idea of _whom_ … and he can feel her staring at him right now.

 

Loki smirks, eyes still closed.  “Like what you see?”

 

Jia smiles widely.  When she discovered that Loki hasn’t left after all, she went back to the main house and had breakfast.  She also prepared the gift for the queen, a _malong_ made of violet silk brocade, packaging it in a scarlet gift box.  By the time she finished, the rest of the court had woken up, so she made one last check of the food, the stables, and the pavilion in the garden where she had decided to receive the queen.

 

When the sun found its place in the sky, she returned to Loki’s room.  There, she sat in the chair and waited for him to wake up.  She opened the window and burned time by reading a book but it couldn’t hold her attention.  So she planned to prank Loki when he wakes up instead, but when she saw him illuminated by the day, her plans lay forgotten.

 

By the time Loki wakes, Jia has committed every minute detail of his face to memory.  She still thinks he is beautiful.

 

“Could be better,” she says.

 

 

 

 

After Loki finishes breakfast, Jia pretty much drags him to the main courtyard.  She’s bursting with eagerness, clearly forgetting that Loki, though he has regained strength rather quickly, is still not fully recovered.  He can only look on in amusement, hobbling at an awkward speed as she leads him by the wrist.

 

“ _Why_ are we heading to the courtyard?” he demands.

 

“To welcome the queen, of course!”

 

“I have no desire to meet the queen.”

 

Jia whips around, not breaking her step.  “That's impolite.”

 

Loki purses his mouth.  “I’m sure she has no desire to meet me either.”

 

“Nonsense, she knows about you.”

 

Loki stops in his tracks.

 

“What did you say?”

 

Jia sighs.  “I wrote the king a letter earlier this week, to let him know that Hanwoo has a visitor.”

 

 _The letter_ … Before Jia left him in the bathhouse, she said she was going to write a letter.  The king’s letter, the one Jia received in the welcome hall, makes more sense now, in a strange way still.

 

“The only people that the king shared the letter with are the queen and the prince,” Jia says, smiling gently.  “No one else knows.  You’re safe.”

 

 _You’re safe_.  An assurance.  A promise.

 

When they reach the courtyard, Jia leaves Loki by the pond and instructs the guards to open the gate.  Loki watches as a group of female servants flock towards Jia, bowing before exchanging gracious smiles and laughter with the head of the court.  A kind of warmth swirls within Loki’s chest at the sight, when he realizes that the servants' abiding respect towards Jia comes not from Jia’s power but from her character.

 

Jia approaches Loki and her entourage follows.  They’re giggling quietly behind their hands, eyes flickering to Loki before giggling even more.  Jia herself is failing at hiding her mischief as she tries to suppress a smile, playfully shushing the court-ladies when they’ve gotten closer to their guest.

 

Loki squints at her.  “What’s so funny?”

 

“You,” Jia says before chuckling.  “You look like a spring roll.”

 

The servants’ giggle grows as Loki looks down at himself, at the plain white clothes he’s wearing.  It belonged to Jia’s uncle, just like the rest of the clothes he's worn over the week.  He knows it’s not the best, and if he had his magic he would change it _all_ (oh, how he missed his magic!), but because there isn't much he can do, he just has to deal with the graceless way the clothes hang off his body.

 

He meets Jia’s eyes.  “Not my fault that I’m in the lousiest court in the kingdom with the dullest amenities.”

 

Jia’s face brightens while her servants quiet down.  Loki has just initiated a war.  Lucky she’s always ready.

 

“You brought your sense of fashion here yourself.”

 

“Your court killed it.”

 

“So you _don’t_ have a sense of fashion?”

 

“Have you _seen_ my armor?”

 

“You mean the one in your room?  The one hanging over your wardrobe?”  Jia fakes surprise.  “I thought that was there to ward off evil spirits.”

 

Loki has been grinning this whole time.  It's not his body’s off-calibration.

 

“Clearly it didn’t work since you’re still here.”

 

The way Jia’s face opens up into a full laugh, her nose crinkled, eyes like two crescent moons, stirs an emotion inside Loki that he can’t quite put a finger on.  It’s tender, brittle, and it pokes at his heart like embers being stoked.  He doesn’t know what it is, but she’s laughing — like music, like the sun — and if he thought he likes the sound, he likes it even better when she laughs because of him.

 

He doesn’t realize that he is holding his breath.

 

The servants catch the way Loki is gazing at Jia: soft, wistful, in awe.  They all share a knowing look.

 

Loki snaps out of it just when Jia’s laugh calms down.  He casts a glance at her servants and then around the courtyard.  Every servant here, the ones dressed in black, is a woman.  There are male servants too but they seem to be farther inside Kay-Jia, and they number fewer than the women.

 

It’s easy to assume that Kay-Jia is a place for entertainment but it isn’t.  And while Jia’s smart mouth is entertaining, Loki had been frustrated by it before.  She wouldn’t last long as an entertainer.

 

However, she is also patient, and gentle, and she did say she’s been taking care of Loki since he first arrived.

 

“I think I know what it is you do,” Loki says like that’s all they’ve been talking about.  “You’re a healer.”

 

Jia tilts her head.  “Why do you guess that?”

 

“You know how to take care of the body, you know plenty about taking care of people.  You’ve taken care of me and…”

 

Jia's brows flick upward, urging him to finish his sentence.

 

“You’re a healer.  A good one.”  Loki hesitates.  “You _are_ a healer, right?”

 

“I do take care of things well,” Jia replies.  “But I’m not a healer.”

 

“Then what—”

 

Loki is cut off by a pack of wolves that bounds right through him and Jia and the servants.  Suddenly there are squeals and shouting as three wolves the color of ash race around the courtyard with reckless abandon, their leashes trailing helplessly after them.  Several guards block the gate so the animals don’t run away while the others try to wrangle them but they are _huge_ , barking as they dart around the perimeter, evading everyone that attempts to stop them.

 

“ _Aiyah_ …”  Jiah sighs before running after the court's pets.

 

As with many things in Kay-Jia, Loki doesn’t have time to comprehend what is happening.  One moment, he is speaking to Jia; the next, she’s running all around the courtyard trying to collect her wolves.  They are extremely beautiful creatures, but clearly very playful.

 

Because the reasons why he should outweigh why he shouldn't, Loki goes after Jia and aids her and the servants in gathering the pack.  One has already been captured.  The second is caught by Loki and three guards.  The last one, the one Jia is trying to corner, takes longer to catch because Jia decides to play with it instead.

 

"Try to catch me, Fan-Fan!" she squeals as the wolf bounds after her.

 

Loki watches on, lost and confused.  Then, he runs after the both of them.

 

Jia's giggles echo around the courtyard as she leaps every which way, the skirt of her dress flowing about her rather prettily.  She's hitched it up a little so she can freely evade Fan-Fan who's having the time of his life.  Loki appears shortly, his breathing a bit labored.  He no longer hobbles.

 

"What's the plan?" he huffs, eyes flitting from Jia to the wolf as he surrounds them.

 

"I haven’t got one!"

 

“Are you _mad_?!”

 

Jia gets an idea.

 

“Possibly,” she puffs.  “Loki, I’m very sorry about this—”

 

Jia swivels around, interrupting Fan-Fan’s trajectory… and then she heads straight for Loki.  It’s too late for him when he realizes what Jia has done.  Fan-Fan, all one hundred seventy pounds of him, dives onto Loki, sending the both of them to the ground.  Loki cries out when his back slams into the concrete, too reminiscent of Mar-So Pass, but he keeps his arms around the wolf until the guards pry the dog off of him and help him up.

 

“You are—” Loki waves a finger at Jia, sucking in a lungful of air, hands on his knees, his spine throbbing.  “You are… _insane…_ ”

 

“Maybe I’m not a good caretaker after all…”  Jia pants.  She chuckles breathlessly.  “I’m sorry.  How’s your back?”

 

Loki groans through clenched teeth as he straightens up, one hand massaging his back.

 

“Like I’ll have to rest again for twenty-three days.”

 

Jia giggles, moving over to dust Loki’s back.

 

“My lady!”  Two male servants run up to Jia, bowing nonstop.  “My lady, we’re so sorry— We were— The wolves—”

 

She holds up a hand, shaking her head and smiling reassuringly.  “No need to apologize.  Just bring them back inside.”

 

They bow more apologies; when Jia instructs them again to go, they bow even as they scamper away.

 

Suddenly, the deafening howl of a bullhorn rumbles through Kay-Jia.  Jia snaps to Loki, then she pulls him towards the gate.

 

A band of royal guards, flanked by four on horseback, marches towards the court.  Their armor is vermillion, the horses accessorized with the same color.  Beyond them, eight palace workers carry a gargantuan wooden palanquin the color of hibiscus, adorned with elaborate gold markings and topped with a sweeping roof as blue as sapphire.  Attached to the back corner of the roof is a proud red banner bearing a fire-breathing blue dragon.

 

“I know I just damaged your back,” Jia mumbles to Loki, looking up at him, “but I have to ask you to bow, very deeply, when they announce her name.”

 

Loki returns to the band steadily approaching Kay-Jia.  Their dignity, the majesty of it all, and the fact that every servant in the courtyard has arranged themselves in neat rows behind Jia and Loki in anticipation of the cavalcade.  The air seems to shift out of respect.  Loki then remembers Asgard at times of formal events, and the way the realm held its breath when the royal family entered the palace.

 

In moments, Loki will be in the presence of the most powerful woman in Hanwoo.

 

“I’m sorry again,” Jia sheepishly smiles.  “Do your best.  Alright?”

 

Loki gives her a firm nod.

 

The royal company stops just outside of the gate.  The guards march aside to make way for the palanquin.  It continues ahead, crossing the archway into the courtyard.  The carriers turn the palanquin so that the door is facing Jia.  Carefully, they lower it to the ground.  The carrier closest to the door opens it.

 

The royal guard who blew the bullhorn has a voice as booming as his instrument.

 

“Her majesty, Queen Amihan, house of Rey, Dragonheart, Protector of Hanwoo.”

 

Jia’s bow is a perfect right angle, her legs straight and her torso parallel to the ground.  Her servants follow suit, bowing the most formal bow when done standing.  Rather awkwardly, because he’s never had to do this before, Loki copies Jia and bows ninety degrees as best as he can.

 

Out of the palanquin steps the queen of Hanwoo.  She takes her time, elegant in every way, her feet barely making a sound when they land on the ground.  She wears an impressive multi-layer dress of red, yellow, white, and blue; the fabrics a mix of silk, lace, and cotton; reminiscent of the hanfu that Jia is wearing but bigger and bolder.  The style of her shiny black hair is indescribably complex, an elaborate mix of buns and braids, hairpins of jewels and silver.

 

“Good morning,” the queen greets the court in the common tongue as she makes her way leisurely towards Jia.

 

When Jia straightens, Loki follows suit, releasing a long breath of relief.  His back was screaming while he held the bow.

 

“Well done,” Jia whispers to him, looking ahead and smiling at the queen.

 

Loki glances down at her.  Her fringes have fallen over her face.  He reaches over and fixes it before he even realizes what he’s done.  His hand freezes, hovering against her forehead, as Jia stares up at him with wide, wide eyes.

 

“ _What_ are you doing?”

 

Loki opens his mouth but no word comes out.  He shakes his head; he has to consciously bring his hand back to himself.

 

The queen finally appears before them.  She’s taller than Jia by a few inches, with a deeply sun-kissed complexion and a stately mien, her face etched with wisdom and grace and righteousness.  Her bearing says that she may be benign, but she does not tolerate nonsense.

 

“It’s been too long,” she greets in Yuan, taking Jia’s hands in hers.  “How are you, _iha_?”

 

Jia smiles bashfully.  “I’m doing well, your majesty.”

 

Loki takes in their exchange — the queen’s softness, the endearing term, their joined hands, Jia’s _bashful_ smile.  It’s so natural and maternal… Exactly _how_ close is Jia with the royal family?  She said it’s nepotism but she was joking… right?

 

The queen regards the man beside Jia, her eyes scrutinizing him from the soles of his feet to the top of his head.  Loki can feel the power and pressure behind her sharp eyes as she assesses him.  He dismisses it, and the way it makes him feel, as best as he can.

 

“Is he the foreigner you wrote about?” she asks Jia.

 

“Yes, your majesty,” Jia says, then she smiles at Loki.  “The weak one.”

 

Loki raises his eyebrows.  “ _The weak one?_ ”

 

The queen’s eyes move between Jia and Loki, catching their natural banter, the smug arch of Jia’s brow.  The wistful look in the foreigner’s eyes.

 

“Well, then,” she addresses Jia, “shall we go?”

 

Jia and the queen depart side by side, lapsing into easy conversation.  Loki is unsure whether he should follow them, so he doesn’t move.  Then the queen stops, followed by Jia, and slightly turns her head.

 

“What are you doing just standing there, Jia’s guest?  Follow us.”

 

When the queen faces forward again, she and Jia continue moving.  For half a second though, Jia twists her neck to look back at Loki, mouthing _Hurry up!._  Loki rolls his eyes, sighing through his nose before trailing after the head of Kay-Jia and the Protector of Hanwoo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * can y’all believe the first glass bottles were made in southeast asia  
> * i had to double-check loki’s age in the mcu and my dude is canonically a teenager… needless to say **loki is aged waY UP** in this fic jfdslkfjsldfkjfldf  
> * do y’all think asgardians brush their teeth lol i’m rly just throwing around my unsolicited au headcanons  
> * i feel like,,, jia gives off a chaotic-good vibe,,, and i hope to live up to that characterization  
> * jia's blue-peach hanfu: https://pin.it/7ufwvi5lufnic7 :')
> 
> THANKS SO MUCH FOR THE FEEDBACK!!! even the hits astound me omg thank you all :') pls don't be afraid to comment ok? thank you for reading <3
> 
> next chapter: dining with the queen + loki realizes something he should've realized long ago


	5. 四 silver tongue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki is a tangram. Jia is horrible at tangram.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this has been the most randomly busy week of my summer so far. i'm sorry for not updating soon enough!
> 
> \- **_Be With You_ by Akdong Musician** \- _“Jia’s mouth hangs open…”_

The garden in Kay-Jia is right in the center of the court, so Loki is surprised that he hasn’t been here before.  Granted that the garden isn’t that vast, it is still a sizable patch of space littered with _so many_ plants that it is easy to imagine it in the spring and summer when it’s lush, and every bush and tree is full with leaves and bearing fruit.  Finding himself amongst the sleeping flora, Loki is puzzled by how seemingly chaotic it was all planted. But there is a pattern to the placement of every bush, every tree: they all point and lead towards the high pavilion in the middle of the garden.

 

Servants stand at the foot of the pavilion while some are administering final touches to the pavilion itself.  When they spot the queen, Jia, and Loki approaching, they (except for two servants) flitter down the other set of steps opposite from where the three would come up.

 

Jia stops at the foot of the steps, bowing her head as she allows the queen to come up first.  The queen glides up the steps, met by a deep bow from the two servants.

 

Loki was raised on the maxim, _Ladies first_.  But when he motions for Jia to go up before him, Jia merely furrows her eyebrows.

 

“ _You_ go up,” she murmurs.

 

Now it’s Loki’s turn to furrow his brows.  “No, you go. You’re the lady.”

 

“So what?”  Jia mutters through gritted teeth.  “ _You_ are my _guest_.  Go.”

 

A little reluctantly, Loki climbs up the steps.  Jia follows after him, putting a rather dramatic distance between herself and Loki.

 

Truth be told, Jia is feeling a palpable nervousness that is threatening to burst through her in many a messy way.  She’s beyond worried about Loki interacting with the queen. The way he interacts with Jia is different — he can be as irreverent, as casual as he wants with her, but not here.  The queen is the epitome of everything that is proper and she is reserved the honor to be treated with utmost veneration. There is no going around it: Jia has doubts, and Loki is in the center of every single one.

 

So when she finds herself up in the pavilion and witnesses the queen sharing a laugh with Loki, Jia wonders for a second if she has stepped into another universe.

 

“You may sit across from me, Jia’s guest,” the queen instructs Loki brightly.   _Brightly?_

 

“I must decline your benevolence, your majesty”—Loki smirks, almost _purring_ , when he meets Jia’s stunned face—“but Jia must sit across from you.  The honored seat, for our very honorable host.”

 

“Indeed,” the queen nods, smiling, impressed by Loki’s manners.

 

Jia might faint.

 

The servants have set up a low square table in the pavilion, a plush blanket spread over the floor and pinned down by pillows beneath the table.  The queen is seated at the head of the table (so marked by the gold paint on the table’s edge) while Loki is on her left with his legs crossed.  As agreed, Jia sits opposite from the queen, still very much reeling from… everything.  One of the two servants motions to the ones at the foot of the steps to get the food.  The other servant, standing right behind Jia, hands her the present for the queen.

 

“Your majesty,” Jia pipes up, making her guests turn to her, “in honor of your visit, my court would like to give you a gift.  It’s from the Ifugao District.  Please use it well.”

 

With both hands and a bowed head, Jia hands the gift box to Queen Amihan.

 

“Oh, _iha_ , you shouldn’t have!”  the queen coos at the _malong_.  “It is beautiful… and in violet, my favorite color.  You are truly after my own heart.”

 

Loki watches a shy smile grow on Jia’s face at the queen’s sentiment, seeing for an instant what she must have looked like as a child.

 

“Now, your guest,” Amihan says upon setting the box aside, “please introduce him to me.”

 

“His name is—”

 

“Loki, your majesty,” Loki finishes.  As if that isn’t bad enough, he takes the queen’s hand and places a chaste kiss on the back of it.  “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

 

Jia’s mouth hangs open; everyone else, including the queen, is frozen.  Unbeknownst to Loki, whose mouth is curved into a smirk so proud you’d think he was courting the queen in a highly brazen way.  And to think he said he didn’t want to meet her.

 

“I—” Even the queen struggles to find her words.  “Is this— Is that... the custom from where you came?”

 

“It is, your majesty,” Loki concurs.  “A kiss on the hand is significant where I’m from.  Not only does it entail respect, it is also a symbol of one’s unwavering loyalty.”

 

The queen turns to Jia.  “Has he done that to you, Jia?”

 

Jia nearly chokes while the smirk on Loki’s face disappears entirely.

 

“He hasn’t, your majesty—”

 

“It- It is only done to one who is sovereign—”

 

“I couldn’t _ever_ dream of it.”

 

Jia’s definitive tone makes Loki snap to her.  Their eyes lock, but Jia can’t read Loki’s gaze, so she breaks away.

 

“And where is it that you come from?” the queen asks Loki.  “How is it that you can speak Yuan?”

 

A thin silence hangs over the pavilion.  Jia’s eyes find Loki again; his gaze never left her.  He can see the curiosity in her eyes, in the way her chest rises just a little when she takes in a breath and holds it.

 

“It is… far, your majesty,” Loki says, looking away from Jia to the queen.  “But I was found by Jia’s servants at… at Mar-So Pass, injured in the snow, twenty-nine days ago.  I’ve been here, recuperating, ever since.”

 

The queen waits for him to answer the second question, aware that his answer for the first one is clearly a dodge.  Jia isn’t satisfied by his response at all.

 

“As for knowing the language”—the smirk returns to Loki’s face as he chuckles lightly, _smugly_ —”I think the _how_ matters less than the fact.  There is no hindrance to our communication, your majesty, and that’s all that matters to me.”

 

And there he is again.  Jia resists every urge to slam her head against the table. _Why is he speaking like_ this _to the queen?!_

 

The queen tilts her head curiously at Loki, truly fascinated by his oddities.

 

What Jia won’t admit is that Loki’s “oddities” are actually passable.  He is, underneath the grease, respectful to the queen.  He is honoring her through his manners — even the way he is sitting, with his back straight although he’s in pain ( _I need to inspect his back later_ ), is impressive — and his eloquence is par with someone who spent time among nobility.  Again, Jia wonders _who_ Loki is, and if what he’s said is true, and if the way he’s behaving right now qualifies as proof.

 

Finally, the food arrives.  Servants place bowls and plates of various dishes and fruits as well as cups of water on the table.  By the time they finish setting it, there is barely any room for the pitcher of water; one of the servants takes it and stands by, ready to refill when needed.

 

“Please, begin,” the queen gestures.  “I must first send off this present to my guards.”

 

When she turns to the empty-handed servant, Loki begins to reach for some noodles when Jia taps his knee under the table.

 

Loki gapes at her, chopsticks in mid-air.   _What?_

 

Jia shakes her head fervently.   _Do not._

 

 _She said “begin”._ Loki vaguely gestures to the queen.

 

 _I said do not!_  Jia glares.  A part of dining etiquette in Hanwoo: you do not start eating until the superior (in age or rank, but rank precedes age) has gotten their portion, not even if they say to start ahead without them.

 

Loki sets his chopsticks down with a clank, moved mostly by Jia’s _glare_ ( _When has she ever glared?_ ).  Meanwhile, the servant hurries away with the gift box and the queen returns her attention to the table, noting the lack of disturbance among the dishes.  She smiles at Jia and Loki, appreciative of their consideration.

 

“Let’s eat well,” the queen says before she takes her portion.

 

When the food touches the queen’s plate, Jia nods at Loki — Now _, you may eat_.

 

Throughout the meal, Loki notes a few more dining customs.  For instance, when the servant refills Jia’s cup, he holds his right wrist with his left hand as he pours.  At the same time, he subtly pushes back the loose sleeve of his shirt, avoiding touching the table with it.  When Jia reaches for more food, she always sets her chopsticks down on the table before scooping the dish onto her empty plate.  And when the queen asks Jia to pass her the bowl of cut _jinju_ , Jia hands the tiny bowl with _both_ hands to the queen who receives it with both hands too.  It is all so novel to Loki, not just because he didn’t grow up with these table manners, but also because Jia has never enforced them whenever it was just the two of them dining, or even at his first meal.

 

Loki ponders everything — Jia requesting him for a ninety-degree bow (fully aware that he hurt his back), her need to let him go up the pavilion first, her glare.  How she fretted about what present to give the queen and where she would receive her company.  Overseeing the stables, the kitchen.  How bashful her smile has been compared to, well, how it usually is.  And the way Jia reverts to a babe at the slightest show of tenderness from the queen.  While he continues to eat and chat with the queen, Loki wonders what these may mean.

 

Meanwhile, Jia is thrown off, swinging between awe and incredulity as she watches Loki and the queen converse like old friends (or like he is truly courting her — he is tremendously greasy).  He speaks with the queen like the words have just been resting on the tip of his tongue all this time; he knows what to say, when to say it, and how.  He really does look like he was raised to have interactions like this.

 

After the main meal, the servants serve the three of them tea — green infused with lemon, fresh and perfect for the large meal they just finished.  Almost immediately, after they’ve laid out the teapot and the teacups, the servants step back, leaving the serving among the three at the table.

 

Here, Loki observes again how much _method_ it takes to eat and drink in Hanwoo, except he allows himself to be fully fascinated this time as he watches Jia lead.  Much like the servant, she also holds her wrist as she pours, but the fact that the enormous sleeves of her dress do not even dip onto the table is most admirable.  She takes her time, almost ceremonially so; even the way she distributes the cups of tea amongst the table has a certain grace to it.

 

“As you know, the new year is coming up,” the queen says, “and the palace is awfully busy with the festival.  It has been hectic up there for weeks, too much energy, that’s why I left.”

 

Jia sips some tea, amused.  “I don’t doubt that the king and the prince can handle it all themselves.”

 

“You would be correct,” the queen agrees.  “Enero wanted me to have a break so badly he could have pushed me down the mountain himself.  Meanwhile, Isagani has invited himself onto the planning committee on my behalf.  Never let it be said that the new year festival can’t be planned by a man of thirteen years.”

 

The queen and Jia share a lighthearted laugh.  Loki, on the other hand, is a bit stuck on _a man of thirteen years_.  It isn’t difficult to remember that human life is fleeting, that they live and die so young, but if Hanwoo considers thirteen-year-olds as adults… then what is the typical lifespan here?  And why is he looking at Jia with such an odd gaze after recalling that?

 

“Loki,” Queen Amihan calls, making him turn to her, “you must attend the lunar new year festival.  I’m sure Jia would love to show you the biggest festivity in Hanwoo.”

 

“I would!” Jia nods eagerly at Loki.  “The new year festival is fun, and through it you can learn more about Hanwoo.”

 

“When is the festival?” Loki asks, like he has anywhere else to go.

 

“A little over two weeks from now."

 

“It will be at the royal court,” the queen adds.  “Then you’ll be able to see my son’s party-planning prowess.”

 

When Loki speaks, his eyes are on Jia.

 

“I will be there.”

 

Jia smiles at him gratefully.  The queen sees it all and tries to mask the recognition upon her face.

 

“We must get you new clothes, though,” Jia muses as she looks Loki over.  “Clothes that actually fit you, for the festival, other occasions, and even your daily clothes.”

 

“Oh, absolutely,” the queen agrees.  She turns to Loki.  “Do not take this personally, _iho_ , but... you look like a spring roll.”

 

While Jia tries to suppress her giggles, Loki tries not to roll his eyes at the queen.

  
  


 

That night, Jia dines with Loki in his room.  During the meal, she asks him about their meeting with the queen — what he thinks about her, of the food that was served (for plenty of it Loki hasn’t seen before), and anything else that might have intrigued him.  About the queen, Loki thinks that she’s an interesting character.  Though she didn’t know much about him, she was still open, which in turn allowed him to be comfortable with her.

 

“A little too much,” Jia mumbles.

 

Loki widens his eyes.  “Speak up please.”

 

“You _kissed_ her hand, Loki,” Jia points out.  “That… That is strange, and not just because it isn’t our tradition.”

 

“Would you like my lips upon your hand too?”

 

Jia snorts.  “Oh, _absolutely_.  _Please_ transfer to me whatever diseases you carry in your mouth, I _can’t_ wait.”

 

As for the food, Loki liked most of it, but only because he wasn’t able to try _all_ of it.  He chose to stick with what he’s familiar — rice, vegetables, tofu, soup, cut fruit — and the only new meal he tried is _lao mian_ , the noodles he tried to reach for until Jia corrected his table manners.

 

“About that,” Loki begins.  “Is there more dining etiquette I need to learn before I dine with royalty again?”

 

Jia makes a face.  “‘Again’?”

 

“Well, with your questionable connections…”

 

“ _Questionable_!”  Jia guffaws so hard she almost chokes on her food.  

 

Loki smiles over his rice bowl.  “It is likely I'll have to entertain a royal another time.  It's only good to prepare."

 

"At least you picked up on plenty earlier rather easily."

 

"Surely there must be more?”

 

Jia hums in thought.  Truthfully, she doesn't pay attention to the customs with which she grew up, much less those that have to do with dining, because, well, she grew up with them.  But now, in her head, she goes through a typical formal dining setting, from the moment you sit at the table to the end of the meal.

 

"Well," Jia begins, "you must wait for either the host or the superior to tell you where to sit.  And if the host is of lower rank than the superior, then the host defers to the superior for… most of the meal, except serving.  The host must always be ready to serve, especially tea."

 

Loki is leaning forward, taking in everything Jia is saying.

 

"Tea is important to us here in Hanwoo.  Preparation is different in each district, and I don't know all the specifics, but tea… Tea punctuates our day.  We have it in the morning, after every meal, mid-day breaks, at night—"

 

"You and I don't drink tea after dinner."

 

"Oh, _I_ do, every night before bed."

 

Loki frowns.

 

"Well, alright.  I'll have tea with you before I leave."  Jia closes her eyes briefly, trying to remember what else.  "Ah!  In some districts like here in Yuan, it's considered… malicious to stick your chopsticks in your bowl.  Bad luck."

 

"Fascinating," Loki mumbles.  "Is that all of it?"

 

"I'm… not sure, honestly," Jia chuckles sheepishly.  "But I think that's all of our etiquette here in Yuan.  If there are more, I'll point it out, but unless you move to another district, you haven't much to worry."

 

Loki watches Jia as she returns to her food, thinking to himself, _Why would I ever move to another district?_

  
  


 

As promised, after dinner, Jia and Loki share tea before bed.  And then she remembers his back and the pain that she brought him through Fan-Fan.  Of the servants that came to collect their dinner and which Jia asked for tea, she also instructs to fetch a liniment.

 

“Would you mind if I check your back while we have tea?” Jia asks Loki.  “I know Fan-Fan isn’t small, he took you down pretty hard earlier, and bowing might have made it worse.”

 

Loki cocks a playful eyebrow.  “Just say you want to touch me.”

 

“I want to touch you.”

 

They engage in a stare-off.  Jia loses, laughing rather boisterously especially this late at night.  A servant comes up on the other side of the door and while Jia goes to answer it, Loki’s eyes are training on her _hard_.

 

There’s something about Jia’s boldness that always checks Loki.  He’ll throw her “Say you want to touch me” and she’ll actually say it — quickly, just as seriously, letting it simmer for several moments.  (She always breaks eventually, but still.)  He almost wants to tell her to tread lightly, to be careful, to ignore him when he says something playful like that.  Because aside from mischief and chaos, he is also the god of lies, and to know how to lie, you must first know the truth… so there is always a part of Loki that, whenever he lies, is always telling the truth.

 

In a few beats, Loki finds himself lying in bed on his stomach with his shirt off.  Jia is seated on the chair perpendicular to the bed, rubbing together her palms coated with the green _fengyoujing_ before massaging it onto Loki’s back.

 

An embarrassingly throaty moan escapes Loki, but he quickly buries his face into the pillows before the rest of the sound hits the air.  He can’t believe he just made that horrendous noise.  Jia's deft hands and the cool burn of the oil make for trouble but it just feels so _good._ The _fengyoujing_ spreads over his back like a cold fire, beckoning his muscles to relax while Jia kneads his back expertly with the base of her palms.  When Loki lifts his burning face from the pillows, he turns his head to the side away from Jia.

 

Jia doesn’t notice Loki’s moan nor his embarrassment, because she is too busy admiring his back.  He hasn’t exercised his upper-body yet it is firm, his back muscles tight and lean and a bit enjoyable to knead.  The way he is lying on the bed too, with his hands on either side his head, helps emphasize his built in the dips and the curves of his back.  Jia catches herself soon enough, thankful that Loki is turned away and he can't see her blush.

 

"How—" Jia swallows air.  "How do you feel? Is the liniment too strong?"

 

"It isn't," Loki mutters.  "I’m— I feel alright."

 

To distract herself, Jia keeps the conversation going.

 

“You know, I just want to say,” she says, still massaging his back, “you did… really well earlier.  With the queen, I mean.”

 

Loki creases his brows.  He turns his head to the other side to face Jia.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

Jia’s hands slow down a bit.  The compliment — _You behaved really well with the queen and won her graces with your impeccable manners despite of my concerns which, I now realize, are illogical_ — rests on the tip of her tongue.  She doesn’t know why she can’t bring herself to say it, especially when it’s true, when Loki has earned it.

 

But she tries, and her hands pick back up while she finds her voice.

 

“I could tell you have experience communicating with people of power,” Jia explains.  “You knew what to say and how to say it, and I know it impressed the queen.  And I admit I was… nervous, but now I know that I had no reason to be.”

 

Loki maintains his eyes on Jia, but she isn’t meeting his gaze back.

 

“You are correct,” he answers, eyes traveling over her face.  “I do have experience.  I was raised as a prince.”

 

Jia’s hands stop completely.  Her eyes lock with Loki’s own.

 

Just like that, Jia is once again reminded of how much she doesn’t know about Loki, how much she is yet to learn.  He’s been here all of a week, yet it has felt longer, and the words _I was raised as a prince_ are the last ones she thought to ever hear from him.  She has thought her biggest problem is figuring out whether Loki being a god is true or not, but now she has to deal with the possibility — the _highly_ probable possibility — that he is also a prince.

 

There is a puzzle game that Jia’s mother tried to teach her when she was young called tangram.  The puzzle is made up of seven shapes, and the objective is to create images using the seven pieces.  Her mother could make all sorts of things — a swan, a flower, a boat, a person dancing — but Jia could only put the pieces into a square, a rectangle, and, in one occasion, a triangle.  Jia’s mother was proud of her for making those images, but Jia cried because she couldn’t make _good_ images the way her mother could.

 

Sitting here, staring at Loki, trying to figure out _his_ shape with the pieces she’s been given, is too reminiscent of those tangram-playing days.  She was inadequate then; she is still inadequate now.

 

“Well,” Jia says, bringing her hands to herself, “is the prince satisfied with the massage?”

 

Loki blinks at Jia, his eyelids heavy with sleepiness.  He gives her a tired smile.

 

“He is.”

 

Jia returns Loki’s smile with one of her own, gesturing for him to turn his body over.  She then reaches forward and applies the remaining liniment from her hands onto his temples, rubbing it in gentle but steady circles.  Loki can’t help his eyes from closing, his breath from escaping his lungs.  The essence of the oil on Jia’s hands reaches his nose while she continues to massage his temples, soothing his head and his mind and his thoughts.  He can never understand how Jia knows exactly what he needs even before he says anything.

 

He forces himself to open his eyes so he can talk to Jia more.

 

“I’ve got a question.”

 

Jia hums in response.

 

“Earlier, at the queen’s arrival, she was introduced as ‘Dragonheart’.  What does that mean?”

 

“Many families here in Hanwoo have a sigil,” Jia begins, “including, first and foremost, the royal family.  The sigil of the house of Rey is the dragon, and one of the ways they embody their sigil is by… incorporating it in their title.  The title of Dragonheart belongs to Queen Amihan alone.  It signifies her role as Hanwoo’s lifeline, its strength and life and spirit, and her responsibility to ensure Hanwoo’s existence.”

 

“‘Protector of Hanwoo’,” Loki recites.

 

Jia smiles.  “Precisely.”

 

“And what about the others?  The king and the prince?”

 

“King Enero is Dragonfire, Hanwoo’s fists and defender.  Prince Isagani is Dragonbreath, the crown prince who will breathe ‘new’ life into Hanwoo when it is his time.”

 

Loki allows Jia’s words to sit for awhile.  He still has one more question — really, the Dragonheart query was only a buffer — but he doesn’t quite know how to phrase it.  Much for his being an experienced communicator.

 

Jia notices his pause.  “Is there something else you want to know?”

 

“Yes,” he answers almost too quickly.  “Why were you nervous?”

 

Now that the question is in the air, and Jia is evidently taken aback by its suddenness, Loki realizes that he couldn’t bring himself to ask it, not because he didn’t know the words, but because he isn’t sure he wants to hear the answer.

 

“I—” Jia takes a deep breath, then flashes Loki an empty smile.  “I just was.  It’s my nature.  I respect the queen, and her family, and… Well, as a prince, you would want to be served well, wouldn’t you?”

 

To know how to lie, you must first know how to tell the truth.  But being the god of lies also means knowing when other people are lying, and Loki can’t decide which is worse: the fact that Jia was nervous because of _him_ , or the fact that she doesn’t believe that he was raised as a prince.

 

But maybe there is something here that he can find consolation in.  Jia did say her nerves were baseless, once Loki proved them wrong.  Maybe, Loki thinks, he can just keep doing that — continue proving to her that her fears, her doubts, her concerns are lies — and maybe, she can begin to trust him.  Or, at least, trust that he can prove her wrong.

 

“Jia, I…” Loki sits up, leveling with Jia.  “It’s true that I was raised as royalty, and it’s also true that I’m a god.  But I haven’t told you what I am the god of.”

 

“I don’t—”

 

“Chaos,” he says.

 

Jia presses her mouth in a thin line.

 

“And mischief.  And lies.  I am these things and more.  If your nature is to be nervous, then mine is to ruin,” Loki chuckles ruefully.

 

In his mind, a sea of words: _I wish it wasn’t.  I wish it wasn’t. I wish it wasn’t._

 

He pushes through all of them, towards Jia.  He wants her so badly to listen, to understand.

 

“I will lie, Jia,” he says, his eyes boring into hers, “but I will never lie to you.”

 

Loki is a tangram.  Unfortunately, Jia is horrible at tangram.

 

Jia smiles at him, amused but… sad.  She gives him a nondescript nod before standing and taking her teacup.

 

“Sleep well, alright?” she urges.  “Tomorrow, I’m taking you somewhere quite far, but I think you’ll enjoy it.”

 

_Is she… changing the subject…?_

 

“We’re leaving the court?”

 

“Yes!”  Jia grins, truly this time.  “Do you know how to ride a horse, by the way?”

 

The corner of Loki’s lips rises a little.  “I was raised as a prince, remember.”

 

The look that Jia gives him is a mystery.

 

“Good night, Loki.”  She leaves.

  
  


 

Loki can’t sleep.  His mind won’t switch off, not when it dawned on him after Jia left that he made her a promise that he most likely can’t keep.   _I will never lie to you_ , he said, with the same breath that he used to say that he is a liar by nature.  What was he thinking saying that?

 

And what was he thinking _meaning_ it?

 

“You moron…” he mumbles in the dark to himself, at himself.

 

He tries to push aside his fumble and finds something else to think about.  The bit about the dragon titles is admittedly quite chic.  Loki almost wishes Asgardian royalty had a similar system.  If it did, what would his title be?

 

Just as quickly, his thoughts become darker.  His mind’s eye flashes painful memories one after the other.  Learning about his true heritage.  The lies, the betrayal.  His fall.  His wanderings throughout space.  The Other.  The torture.  The Tesseract.  The battle in New York.  His defeat—

 

Loki shoots up.  His face is frozen, immobilized somewhere between fear and alarm.

 

How could he have not noticed before?

 

_Where is the Tesseract?_

 

In mere moments, Loki bolts out of his room, out of the building, out of the guest wing.  He stands in the middle of the inner courtyard, eyes flying heavenward before flitting among his surroundings.  Guards continue to patrol the court but they are scattered well and not one of them notices Loki.

 

Under Loki’s breath he growls a string of quiet curses directed mostly to himself.

 

“How can you be _stupid_?!” he spits.

 

Kay-Jia seems to cave in on Loki.  The moon overhead feels like a threat.  When he decides to seek shelter from their judging eyes, he finds himself heading for the guest outhouses positioned several meters away from the guest wing.  Inside one, he paces.

 

Logically, the last place where he must have left the Tesseract is the pass.  According to Jia, it takes one day to get there from Hanwoo.  If Loki leaves, his absence wouldn’t remain a secret for long, especially when Jia has evidently taken him under her wing and is always checking in on him.  And if he asks to be taken there, he could be met with questions that he can’t answer, or worse.  (And he already swore he won’t lie to Jia — he curses himself again.)

 

The only other solution is to teleport.  But Loki’s magic is weak; if he can’t even change the style of his clothes with a wave of his hand, what makes him think he can teleport?

 

 _But… perhaps…_ His magic and his teleportation are two different powers.   _Then… maybe…_

 

Loki stops pacing.  He closes his eyes and draws out a picture in his mind of the pass, where he landed and where he was found, as best as he can.  The more clearly he can imagine the pass, the more accurate it will—

 

The wind is howling.  The air is thin.  Flecks of snow fly in the sharp breeze.  Small bits of ice pelts Loki’s face whereupon they melt.  Everywhere, thin slabs of snow are scattered around.

 

He opens his eyes.

 

Loki is at the pass.

 

He looks around at this corner of the pass in the brightness of the moon.  It looks different when he’s up on his feet, but there is no doubting that he’s in the same spot where he was found.  In his immediate surroundings, he can’t find the searing glow of the Tesseract, which means it isn’t here... but he isn’t completely dejected.

 

As quickly as Loki left Kay-Jia, he returns.   _I can teleport_.  When he ends up back in the outhouse, he has to hold himself up against the wall. _I can teleport_.  Dizzily, he makes his way back to the guest wing, making himself look as inconspicuous as possible even when he stumbles.   _I can teleport_.

 

That night, he makes two promises: one to Jia,  that he won’t ever lie to her, and one to himself, that he will find the Tesseract no matter what it takes… or how long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * efficascent oil cures everything  
> * there’s that one headcanon that went around tumblr a looong time ago about how loki was tortured post-thor 1 and pre-avengers and i’m totally adhering to that - it makes sense to me so… ig it’s canon in this fic? ye ye
> 
> i just wanna say - THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE KUDOS/HITS/COMMENTS!!! it makes me so happy that even when i wasn't able to update quickly enough, you guys still gave this story attention :'D
> 
> in the next chapter, expect a ~tonal shift~ because... well, you'll see :) see you then!


	6. 五 six sides [T]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Minor cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ****  
> The chapter ahead is Rated T for graphic depiction of violence.  
>  \- new character ahead...  
> \- _please_ heed the chapter warning. i honestly teared up while writing this chapter, it is heavy, so please trust me. **you can read up to the sentence _“To fight it, you must be just as merciless”_ & skip to the End Notes** but everything else is off-limits if you can't handle graphic violence. thank you!
> 
> \- **_Golden Goat_ by OHHYUK** \- _the entire chapter_

_Just because men do not like the cold, Heaven will not stop the winter_.

 

It is a proverb, a saying.  Words to live by, to measure yourself against, to hold yourself accountable.

 

Words written by men telling you what to do.

 

Even so, proverbs resonate for a reason.  There is always a truth behind them, a truth that people in all walks of life can get behind.  You can look past the fact that they were penned by humans and listen for the voice in them that sounds like yours, search for the face that looks like yours.  Wisdom is both an echo and a mirror, and truth is only true if you can put it in practice.

 

Perhaps that is why the Winter finds himself attached to proverbs — because, unlike lesser men, he knows he can abide by their truths.  Most recently, he has been mincing something he once heard his uncle say: _Just because men do not like the cold, Heaven will not stop the winter._  What men feel is nothing in the face of the inevitable.

 

And winter is inevitable.  Perhaps that is why he goes by that moniker.

 

 _The heavens will not stop me,_ he muses.   _They will not.  They cannot._

 

The recent snowstorm that swept through the continent hit the southern portion hard.  When it raged over the course of several weeks, its anger raked tons and tons and _tons_ of ice, engulfing the terrain with hard snow and sending the world in a flurry of white.  It forced the Winter and his band to camp in a spot between some mountains in the south, vast enough to house him and his 200,000 men in tents made of tusks and hide.  The icy tempest was so cruel that even now, when it has long passed, the men are still camped, recuperating from the disaster.

 

As the Winter sits outside his tent whetting his sword, he solemnly calculates the loss they experienced because of the storm.  Food became more and more scarce as they moved that, eventually, they had to ration. Many of the horses died, both from the cold and the shortage of food.  Fortunately, no man perished, but the storm forced them to stay indoors — the Winter is concerned they might have grown stagnant.

 

Still, he cannot count it all as loss, for the winter, in its fury, brought him a gift.

 

He and a few of his men had seen it right as they began to set up camp.  At first, the Winter thought it was a mirage, a trick played by the mind and the eyes like when he wandered the desert for the first time and lost control of his senses due to hunger and pain and time.  But when the gift appeared, he wasn’t in the desert suffering its heat; he was in the mountains fighting the onslaught of winter.  In the freezing cold, he was never more aware of his senses, so he approached its glow — a piercing blue dot of light in the distance.

 

The blue glow was coming from a fascinating cube, inside of which swirls fierce, pure light.  When he first touched the cube, a surge of _powerful_ energy coursed through his body.  It threatened and displaced him; it awakened his bones and breathed something new in him.  When he brought it into his tent, he gave it its own space by his bed.  It turned his makeshift shelter into a temple.

 

That night, when he went to sleep, the visions arrived.

 

The Winter didn’t have to wonder where the visions came from or what they were about.  From the first image that flashed in his mind, he knew that it was caused by the cube… because the cube told him so.  As indistinct images rushed past, they carried a message: _What you are seeing, and everything else you will see, comes from the object that you found._  And then, just as quickly as they flew, the visions became clearer and clearer.

 

A powerful being… He beheld the cube before it landed at the Winter’s feet… A scepter… Loaned to him… So he can control an army… A battle… A brother... _Where is he now?  (I do not know… but he wielded my power until…)_ He failed… _At what?  (Conquering…)_  He understood the power but he did not understand the cost… He failed… Failed… _Failed_...

 

Every night, the same scenes.  The Winter has seen them so many times and in increasingly vivid detail that after every night, he learns more.  About the cube, the being who possessed it before him, what he did, what he failed to do.  Everything, except _why_ the cube is showing him these visions.  He has asked, but it refuses to tell and instead it continues to fill his head with the same scenes, the same being, the same wins, the same defeats.

 

But that is another thing he learns: the cube can _choose_.  Like a creature of intelligence, of sentience, it makes conscious decisions.  That is how the Winter discerned exactly how powerful it truly is — and how dangerous.

 

And now, although the storm has stopped, the visions have not.

 

The Winter can see his face reflected in the shine of his sword.  He is so young, yet so aged, worn out by time.  Eons sit his broad shoulders.  He has been to many places, seen plenty of kingdoms, conquered legions of men — he has no intentions of stopping, but it can be taxing.

 

But in his confusion of why the cube shows him the visions, the Winter understands at least why the cube ended up in his possession: he is worthier.  Unlike the cube’s previous owner, the Winter has learned power inside-out and how much it truly costs to wield it.

 

You don’t wander a continent for 13 years without learning how much power gives… and how much it can take away.

 

He also sees why the cube’s previous owner failed.  The being, for all his might and glory, allowed _sentiment_ to destroy his goals.  The Winter scoffs at this.  Sentiment can enslave logic without mercy; it is a pest, a weed, it has no reason to exist.  To fight it, you must be just as merciless.

 

And there is no man more ruthless than the Winter.  For he didn’t spend those 13 years of wandering doing nothing.  No, the Winter built a name for himself.  As he headed south, he stripped himself of everything childish and forced himself to grow stronger, smarter, faster, _better_.  When he has made himself superior, no amount of sentiment stopped him from slaughtering village after village with nothing but a blade and his thirst for power.   _If they want mercy, they will find it at the end of my sword._

 

In no time, he gained the first of his men.  In no time, his army grew itself, and he has no intentions of stopping.

 

But the Winter isn’t collecting an army for no reason.  No, he has a goal — a place, a mission — in mind.  _North_ is the only word on his mind.   _North, where I will build my kingdom_.

 

North... is the place he once called home.  Up there, hidden by and in the mountains, is the kingdom where he was raised.   _Hanwoo_.  It means unity, and it _disgusts_ him.

 

That kingdom prides itself on its self-cultivated power, but it wouldn’t recognize real power if it slapped them in the face and snapped their neck.  _True_ power reigns.   _True_ power does not hide.  True power seeks and answers and obtains _more power_ , but the kingdom — its people, especially their pathetic, wretched excuse for a king — chooses to turn its face away from the rest of the continent when it knows that _there is so much more_ out there, out here.  Hanwoo is satisfied with having absolutely _nothing_ , and if the Winter is known as merciless, so be it… but emancipating those ignorant people from their own selves is really the truest form of mercy there is.

 

A long time ago, when the Winter’s army was half the size it is now and they found themselves camped in a city they would eventually claim, he voiced the truth about Hanwoo.

 

There was a family traveling through that city — a wife and a husband, a grandmother, two children (one boy and one girl).  They huddled together by a fire and welcomed over the Winter when he appeared by them.  They said they were from Hanwoo, and they rejoiced when the Winter told them he is from there too.   _It’s nice to meet fellow countrymen_ , they said, _it’s like meeting family_.

 

From whichever district they were, the Winter didn’t hear, because the way the family, mainly the husband, _gushed_ about their _benevolent_ kingdom pierced his eardrums in the most unbearable way that all he could hear was a thin, keening noise.

 

Just before the husband could finish his rant, the Winter cut him off.

 

“How foolish of you to praise Hanwoo when you know very well that the kingdom isn’t all it poses itself to be.”

 

The husband’s mouth hangs open.  “E- Excuse me?”

 

The Winter shakes his head, nostrils flared, his face menacingly illuminated by the red of the fire.

 

“Hanwoo is a place for cowards,” he says, to the family’s shock.  “And the king is the biggest coward of them all.  The kingdom wastes its power on fleeting things like food and people and _unity_.  There is so much outside the kingdom but they isolate themselves in the name of tranquility, but you cannot mistake silence for peace.”

 

The hush that punctuates the Winter’s tirade is tight, heavy.  The wife trembles beside her husband; the grandmother gathers the stunned children closer to her frail body.  It is hard to breathe in between his words.

 

“Be afraid of silence,” the Winter says, staring solemnly into the fire. “It is always quiet in the eye of a typhoon but it is _still_ a typhoon.  Now you tell me, if a king knows that silence always precedes danger, but says nothing, is he still worthy of the power that he wastes?  Is he protecting his people… or himself?”

 

No one speaks, or knows how to.

 

That night, when the Winter and his army claimed that city, the first people that the Winter himself killed were the family.

 

The Winter continues sharpening his sword.  The iron carries heavy history.  It has freed many people from the bondage of ignorance; it has doled out righteous punishment to those who allowed themselves to forget the mission.  It remains the Winter’s best companion, the only thing he can trust in this universe.

 

“Master!”  One of his men bounds to him.  “Master, we caught a deserter attempting to leave our midst.”

 

Speaking of people forgetting the mission.

 

The Winter doesn’t blink nor lift his eyes, but his ears can hear the whimpering, pitiful protests of the man who allegedly tried to desert.  The Winter sighs.  He will never understand people who _cry_ when their crimes are found out.  Either you do it well or you do not do it all — no tears involved, no weakness necessary.

 

“Where did you find him?” the Winter deadpans.

 

“Just outside the camp, sir,” the man replies, fiddling with the pommel of his own sword.  “He packed himself a rucksack of supplies.  It was too heavy for him to carry, we caught him just before he could round the mountain.”

 

“M- Master, please…” the deserter begs, fat tears in his eyes.  He is on his knees in the snow, the cold seeping through his thin clothes.  “I… I swear I will n- never…”

 

The Winter clenches his jaw and looks up from his sword.  His piercing gaze shoots daggers at the deserter.  He is held down by two other men, but the Winter’s eyes hold him in place where he continues to weep some more.

 

But it is no use, begging, weeping.  The Winter hates many things and one of them is disloyalty.  The deserter himself has seen him punish men for trying to flee, in ways so cruel and savage and _bloody_ that make his stomach twist in thick knots, and kneeling in front of him now, knowing the fate that awaits him in the hands of the Winter…

 

He shouldn’t have done it.  He should’ve stayed, even when he hates it here, when he hates the Winter and what he did to his family and his village and what he knows the Winter will demand of him.

 

The deserter is filled with so much fear that he vomits.  The men holding him down suddenly release him out of disgust, and he falls face first into his own sick.  He tries to lift his filthy face, tries to meet the Winter’s remorseless eyes, tries to ignore the way he is gripping his sword.

 

“Master…” he sobs.  “Master, forgive—”

 

“Do you have a family?”

 

The deserter’s mouth hangs open.  He quickly gathers his words in panic.

 

“N- No, master, I— Not anymore—”

 

“Good.”

 

The Winter stands and marches towards the deserter.  He towers over everyone, and his wickedness does not help.  The other men back away, as far as they can, afraid that the Winter’s wrath may fall upon them too.  The deserter only wails louder, his head raised, tears mixing in with the sick on his face.

 

“No one to miss,” the Winter says, “and no one to miss you.”

 

Without a warning, the Winter runs his sword through the deserter’s throat — and _holds it there_.  It cuts his weeping at once, his breath coming out in staggered chokes, his eyes rolling backwards into his head.  His mouth fills with blood, _so much blood_ , and the blood that pours out of the gash in his neck coats the blade of the sword.  The men unfortunate enough to witness hold back from retching.

 

The Winter remains in place, his grip on his sword unwavering.  He keeps his eyes trained on the deserter’s face, watching, waiting, for the life to leave his body.  The deserter convulses against the iron but the Winter doesn’t budge; he’s done this before, he knows how to hold himself.

 

Beneath them, the snow stains red.  The blotch grows bigger and darker as the man continues to bleed, his blood seeping into the ice, drenching the ground in a dizzying crimson.  The more blood drains, the closer the man approaches the end of his life.

 

Finally, his body slacks.  When the Winter pulls his sword out of the man’s neck, the body falls into the pool of blood and vomit before him.  The mess splatters a bit onto the Winter’s clothes.  He sneers, not at the muck, but at his sword that he must now clean.

 

The men who caught the deserter regain their senses.  They avoid the gore as much as possible, but it is hard to look away from its _vibrancy_ against the whiteness of their surroundings.  Blood in snow makes for a tragic image.

 

“S- Sir, what—”  The one who first addressed the Winter gulps.  “What do you want us to do with… with him?”

 

The Winter spares the corpse a glance.

 

“Feed it to the horses.”

 

As the men do their best to clean up, the Winter strides into his tent.  He searches the space for the cleaning equipment for his sword, but his eyes land on the stand by his makeshift bed.

 

The cube, resting on the stand, glows with a life so bright it paints the inside of the tent blue.  The lights within the six-sided figure dance rather enticingly, beckoning the Winter forward.  He allows himself to be pulled by its strength, its power.  In the presence of the cube, other thoughts lay forgotten.  He stares, seduced by the cube, the sword at his side dripping with blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * so we know who has the tesseract ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)  
> * as far as the tesseract causing visions, i pretty much just extended what’s been said about it in the mcu e.g. the fact that it’s somewhat sentient
> 
> ****  
> _look up “minor cold in chinese” — the result is gonna be very, very important to the rest of the fic_  
>     
> if you read the full chapter, i hope you're okay ;; i promise the next one is gonna be fluffy. in fact, it's gonna be EXTRA fluffy, to compensate for all that^^ jfsfkj
> 
> anyway, thank you for reading! for every comment, kudos, hit, i'm so so grateful. i'm especially moved by those who like the cultural components of this fic. representation is such a marvelous thing & i'm honored that you guys are able to find yourselves in jia, the royal family, etc. as we move further in the story, more asian characters will be introduced = more opportunities for us to see ourselves in fiction :') i hope you continue to join me until the end! (and don't be afraid to comment pls i love reading your thoughts). i love you guys! see you in the next chapter!


	7. 六 toil, glamour, grace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This just in: Loki has an unlucky face!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y’all this chapter was about to be 20+ pages long so i decided to separate it into 2 diff chapters ;; it's still fluffy! but if it seems to end abruptly, it's bc it is haha
> 
> \- **_Be With You_ by Akdong Musician** — _“And then she yanks him forward…”_  
>  \- **_Say Yes_ by Loco, Punch** — _“Loki doesn’t know where to look first…”_  
>  \- **_A Lot Like Love_ by Baek A Yeon** — _“Allowing Jia to pick for him is both a blessing and a curse…”_

****_It’s true that I was raised as royalty, and it’s also true that I’m a god._

 

Jia is sitting in bed reflecting on Loki’s words.  Her hands are clasped over her abdomen, eyes lost in the dance of the flames in the fireplace ahead.  The light of the fire bathes the dim master bedroom in a soft, warm haze.  Every so often, the wood will crackle and sparks would fly up.  Lavender and eucalyptus incense burns in an ornate censer on the dresser, the aroma wafting through the air.  Nearly every element in the room is designed to relax Jia, but nothing can pull her out of her brooding.

 

_But I haven’t told you what I am the god of… Chaos.  And mischief.  And lies.  I am these things and more._

 

She can’t sleep, and she knows it’s well past midnight (and with her plan of taking Loki out of the court plus attending a council meeting in the morning, she knows she won’t wake up right).  Even with her hair down, when she is wearing the comfiest of her nightgowns, she can’t bring herself to rest.

 

“What was he saying…” Jia mumbles.

 

And why is he insistent?  Can he really be who and what he says he is — a god and a prince?

 

Jia has told virtually everybody that Loki is a visitor from a faraway place.  How far away isn’t the main mystery, but determining _where_ exactly Loki is from hasn’t seemed insurmountable until… tonight.

 

Even when the queen herself asked him about it, all he said is _It is far_.  Even then, that isn’t a real answer.  Even then, Jia sensed his hesitation, his dodge.  It seemed then, and still now, like Loki doesn’t _want_ to tell.

 

But maybe she can still do something…?

 

Jia decidedly swings her legs off her bed.  She takes the lamp sitting on her desk and lights it on the way out of the room, down to the first floor, and out back to the library tower.  There are perks that come with having a scholarly father, and one of those is inheriting an overstocked library on nearly every relevant subject in the kingdom.  It isn’t like the royal library — which has the most extensive collection in Hanwoo — or the public library in the valley, but for a court, Kay-Jia’s library is impressive.

 

The library makes up the first two floors of the tower, the topmost being Jia’s office.  The tower itself is massive in volume, and the library is cavernous and maze-like.  Both floors have endless shelves and chests of books and scrolls on poetry, history, war strategy, philosophy, religion, genealogies, medicine, astronomy, and more.  In the corner of the first floor is a five-level drawer filled with basic office supplies such as blank parchment pads and pots of ink.  There are tables and chairs on each floor for anyone who wants to use the library.

 

When Jia’s father oversaw the library, it was organized in the best way each genre could be ordered (for example, poetry was organized by author, Hanwoo history by year).  But now, with Jia as the head of the court, the library is an organized mess.  Of everyone in the court, she uses the library the most and often, and she doesn’t ask for it to be cleaned, not when she has familiarized herself with its “system” so well.

 

Anyone who comes inside would be half-intimidated by the seemingly haphazard arrangement, but Jia knows where everything is.

 

It takes her perhaps three minutes to gather every religious work from both floors and to bring all of them up to her office.  At the end of her search, she has brought up fourteen works: nine books and five scrolls.  She had to take three trips to collect them all.

 

Then in the office, from the far end of the room, she grabs every journal her father kept on the different Hanwoo faiths.  Seven journals in total, plus the fourteen works... Jia’s eyes rake across the surface of her desk, or the lack thereof.  She goes to open the tall window but not before pinning down the scrolls.  Then she sits at her desk, puffs her cheeks, and gets to work.

 

By fire and moonlight, Jia buries herself in deep research, trying to match Loki to a description of any god-prince in the sacred texts available to her.  In her confusion about Loki’s identity, she finds a fire set ablaze that, with every line or verse, only grows bigger.  She’s so focused on hunting through the texts and her father’s notes — she has no idea at what hour she started or finished.

 

At the end of it all, Jia has compiled a journal of her own notes.  Her hair she has messily tied up in a loose bun, and the end of the bamboo brush she used to write is intensely gnawed on.  Once or twice a scroll was almost burned.  A thin sheen of sweat paints her face, neck, back, and arms.

 

Unfortunately, Loki is not in any of the texts.

 

There is a pantheon of deities across faiths in Hanwoo.  Many seek chaos, wreak havoc, lie, but not one of them is named Loki.  There is, of course, the possibility that, if Loki exists in a religious text, it is a foreign one.  If so, then Jia has hit a wall, because no library in Hanwoo has even a _sentence_ on foreign religions.  Hanwoo doesn’t keep contact with peoples outside the kingdom on the front that they don’t need to reach out if there is no reason to, and there _is_ no reason.

 

Jia throws down her brush pen, slouching in her chair.

 

“This is useless,” she groans as she rubs a hand down her face.

 

Exhaustion hits Jia like a brick.  She stares into the flame of one of the candles she has lit, not quite in a trance but not quite present either.

 

 _If your nature is to be nervous, then mine is to ruin_.

 

If Loki _is_ a god, then he isn’t a good one — literally and objectively.  But that isn’t what Jia finds odd (although it is quite strange trying to reconcile Loki the god of chaos with Loki who kisses the hands of queens, or are they that different?).  What she can’t wrap her mind around is that Loki isn’t even hiding it. Sure, he hides other things, but not his allegedly dark nature. Isn’t it more normal to edit parts of yourself, to make yourself more likable and presentable to others?  Why be _upfront_ about how you’re the epitome of devastation?

 

...Unless it’s the truth?

 

Jia sighs and slams her journal close.  With one last look at the disorder on her desk, she stands up, blows out the candles, and closes the window.

 

 _I will lie… but I will never lie to you_.

 

As Jia makes her sluggish return to her room, she contemplates.  Loki had looked… painfully sincere when he told her that he would never lie to her even when his nature permits him otherwise.  The intensity of his eyes, and their simultaneous softness, had begged her to believe him, but how can she?

 

Yet there is a part of Jia that _wants_ to believe.  It is a struggle to find assurance in Loki’s words, but she wants to trust him because, well, it’s easier.  But an ever bigger part of her cares more about truth than ease.  Maybe she will just struggle to believe until she can, however long that takes.

 

Still, from what she’s seen, Loki seems far from what he says he is.  A god of chaos wouldn’t allow Jia to hold him down while she slathers _lu hui_ extract all over his face.  A god of mischief wouldn’t help the court wrangle its pet wolves.  A god of lies wouldn’t tell the truth… would he?

 

There is so much that needs to be done, yet Jia cannot even figure out how to begin.  At the same time, she is certain of one thing: her inability to find rest in Loki’s words isn’t an excuse for her to treat him any differently.  She means it when she told the king that she will care for Loki, that he is her responsibility.  While she can’t figure out where Loki really stands, at least she knows that _her_ intentions are true.

 

The flames in the fireplace in Jia’s room have died down to embers, the coal glowing softly amidst the darkness of the room.  Jia kills the lamp before bringing herself to bed, burrowing beneath the covers.  Her eyelids have grown heavy.  She allows herself to think about the coming day, and the plans that she has to show Loki more of Hanwoo, more of herself.  It hasn’t been an easy night.  Perhaps the day will be better.

 

 

 

Before Loki goes to eat breakfast, his wounds are redressed by one of Kay-Jia’s healers.  It isn’t Healer Chien, and more importantly, it isn’t Jia.  His surprise is tinged with worry — Jia has been the one cleaning and mending his wounds, so to have someone else do it is… weird.  He would even go so far as to say wrong, and when he thinks back to last night, his face darkens: has he done something wrong?  Has he pushed her away?

 

But before he can ask or protest, the healer assures him that Jia _was_ going to fix him up this morning, but she had to attend to “council matters at the palace” and will be back after breakfast “to free him from his cage” and “make him the happiest man in the world” (Jia instructed the healer to wink at Loki — he did not).

 

While the healer works, Loki stays quiet, mulling on _council matters at the palace_.  That bit isn’t much, but learning that Jia is part of some royal council sheds a little light on her occupation.  Before he can ask the healer what _kind_ of royal council Jia serves, though, he finishes and scuttles out of the guest room with the subtlest of bows.

 

After breakfast, Loki is instructed to head to the main courtyard where Jia is waiting.

 

Jia has been back from the palace for a short while.  The king called for a meeting regarding the upcoming new year, but majority of it was dominated by his astronomer who informed the king’s council on the most auspicious times to hold events in the coming weeks.  Because Jia went in on four hours of sleep, her lethargy was unbelievable, and the astronomer’s lulling voice didn’t help.  Thankfully, she didn’t have to contribute anything to the meeting aside from showing up.

 

Now, Jia has been in the main courtyard assisting her servants with unloading two Kay-Jia horse-pulled carts of food for the court.  They have just unloaded the last sack of rice when Loki appears.

 

“Ah, Loki, good morning,” Jia chirps, dusting her hands.  “Are you ready to become the happiest man in the world?”

 

Loki looks her over quickly.  She’s wearing a dark blue dress, not unlike the violet one she wore a week ago, her hair pulled up into a bun with a few strands framing her face.  The cool morning dusts her nose and cheeks a subtle pink.  The faint fog of the wintry morning gives her a hazy glow.  Loki’s chest aches a little.

 

He brushes it off.  “Is that a threat?”

 

Jia chuckles, her breath coming out in a vapor.  “Tell me, did Healer Song wink at you? I told him to.”

 

“He did not,” says Loki.  “Thankfully.”

 

“Well, that’s alright, I guess.  I can do it myself.”  Jia gives him a wink before nodding at her servants to detach one of the carts.  The other one remains to make a second trip to the valley.

 

Loki stares at Jia.   _Is there really nothing wrong...?_  Is she not trying to avoid him after last night, after all?  He glimpses Jia’s horse resting only a few feet away — the velvet-grey beast is even more captivating, and imposing, up close.  He also watches the servants haul one of the carts away, leaving the other one attached to a cinnamon-colored horse.  The animal huffs a little, its breath fogging up around its mouth.

 

“What is this for?” asks Loki, gesturing to the cart.

 

Jia turns to him.  “It’s your ride.”

 

Loki deeply furrows his eyebrows.  “I will not ride in a cart.” _That is beneath me_.

 

Jia’s face is deadpan.  “Why not?”

 

“I thought I was a riding a horse, or was I misled?”

 

“You will be, just not _on_ one.  Doesn’t your back hurt?”

 

Jia and Loki maintain eye contact.  It is only when Loki visibly frowns, his nostrils threatening to flare, that Jia breaks character with a goofy grin.

 

“I’m kidding,” she says.  She nods to her horse.  “You ride with me.”

 

Jia mounts the beast, unaware of how Loki’s face has fallen.  The horse is massive, but Loki knows he and Jia would have to be in _extremely_ close proximity while riding.  They have been in close contact before, but this one is a little… Something stirs within Loki but he doesn’t know what it is.

 

Loki positions himself behind Jia, adjusting himself a bit to leave about an inch of distance between his body and hers.  His heart pounds inside his ears as he warily looks at the back of Jia’s head, fully aware that while he can sit this “far” from her now, it wouldn’t remain when they finally move.

 

“Hold tight,” Jia instructs him.

 

Loki swallows involuntarily, mentally kicking himself for being so _delicate_.  He’s ridden horses before and he’s had passengers before too.  He’d relished in the way they posed themselves against him, snuggling him, sometimes while doing… other things to him.  It’s just… he’s never been the passenger before.  He doesn’t know how to play the role.

 

When he gingerly places his hands upon Jia’s waist, he fights the urge to pull away.  In the cold, he knows his face is _hot_.

 

Jia looks down at Loki’s hands hovering ridiculously above her waist.  She cranes her neck back enough to see his face.

 

“I said tight,” she says, softly but firmly.

 

When Jia returns her attention to the front, Loki leans forward a _little_.  Jia rolls her eyes.

 

And then she yanks him forward — Loki _yelps_ , his chest crashing flush against Jia’s back, his cheek pressed onto her shoulder blade.  Loki scrambles up, embarrassingly aware of the layers of clothes between them.  If Jia can feel the heat radiating off of him, she doesn’t say.  She has a firm grip around Loki’s wrists, his arms wrapped around her torso as they should.

 

“I said hold tight,” she tells him.  He can _hear_ the self-satisfied grin in her voice.

 

In another life, Loki has done this exact stunt before.  He’d been the one who was dominant, who was smug.  He only grows hotter and redder now, but even though he wants to pull away or retort or just _do something_ , he can’t.  He doesn’t need it, but Jia’s warmth is too nice to let go of.

 

They don’t move yet as they’re waiting for guards to accompany them.  In the waiting, Loki distracts himself with his thoughts.  To say that he isn’t excited to leave the court would be a lie, and because he’s sworn not to utter falsehood to Jia, he doesn’t say anything.  At the same time, he is a little worried about being out and about.  Who would see him?  What would they think?  What would they say?

 

Where are they even going?

 

Jia feels the way he slacks against her back.

 

“Is something wrong?” she asks.

 

“Where are we heading?” he says, glancing at her over her shoulder.

 

“To the valley.”  A pause.  “Are you worried?”

 

Loki doesn’t say anything.

 

“You’re safe,” she assures.  “If I’m with you, you’re safe.”

 

“Fan-Fan would disagree,” he says flatly, but Jia’s laugh is so light he has no choice but to relax.

 

Behind them, five of Jia’s guards arrive to the courtyard from the stables on horseback.  Once they’ve sidled up to Jia and Loki, she instructs them about where to patrol once they’ve reached the valley.

 

Soon, they gallop off and out of the court.  Jia is no longer gripping Loki’s hands; his arms stay tightly wrapped around her.

 

 

 

It takes a little over an hour and a half for them to reach the edge of the valley.  On the way down, Loki learned that the mountain is comprised of two sections: the royal court at the top, and the district of Yuan (as it turns out, Yuan is the biggest of all districts in Hanwoo).  They rode past a smattering of people on the road, all of whom enthusiastically waved at and greeted Jia and her detail.  Loki, meanwhile, found himself hiding his face behind Jia the farther they went along.  But once they hit the foot of the mountain, Loki slowly emerges.  The horses slow down to a casual walk as they maneuver through the steady bustle of the people below.

 

Loki doesn’t know where to look first.  From where he can see, to their left is a stretch of cream-colored buildings attached to each other topped with black sweeping roofs and black eaves.  To their right are stalls where vendors hawk their multitude of goods, from delicacies and confections and fruits to books and tools and wooden toys.  The buildings and the stalls are separated by a wide dirt pathway, at the end of which is a left turn: the pathway goes right back around the square.

 

And the people — laughing, haggling, bickering, talking.  Most are dressed plainly like commoners, but Loki can spot a handful who are colorfully dressed like Jia.  Some men are inspecting what Loki can only assume as dried filleted fish hanging off of rods. Elderly vendors sit on high chairs by their goods.  A few guards patrol the area.  A teenage boy with a crippled man hoisted on his back in an interesting chair dashes past, followed by a small gang of kids at whom the crippled man is pelting cloves of garlic.  The sun isn’t even in its highest position yet, but the crowd is filled with so much life it’s hard to focus on any one thing. Loki can’t help but be amazed by it all.

 

In the middle of the path, their detail stops.  One by one, Jia’s guards dismount their horses. Loki swings himself off Jia’s horse next, followed by Jia.

 

Jia notes the look on Loki’s face, the way he ogles everything as if consuming it all.  His wide eyes and slightly parted mouth, the meticulous way he charts everything in sight, the childlike wonder — it’s enough to make a person cry.   A sort of pride blossoms inside Jia’s chest at his fascination.

 

“Where are we?” he asks, wistful, unaware of passersby staring at him as they walk on.

 

Jia giggles.  “Welcome to Joseon.”

 

As they walk forward, Jia explains Joseon to Loki.  It’s a small district, bordering the mountain, but to get to the other parts of the kingdom from the mountain, you must cross through Joseon.  The marketplace where Jia and Loki are is only one of many in the district, but it is the closest to Yuan, and it’s got the place Jia wants to bring Loki to.

 

Three of Jia’s guards bring the horses away while two stay behind to guard Jia and Loki.  They try to keep up with Jia’s stride while maintaining a healthy distance as she leads Loki forward.  At some point, Jia takes him by the wrist, her fingers gentle but secure, as they deftly steer through the swarm of morning market-frequenters.  Loki doesn’t take his eyes off of her hand until once they’ve passed the heaviest part of the throng. When she lets go, he’s too aware of the space around his wrist where her hand was.

 

“Jia- _ssi_?”

 

A middle-aged man with heavy smile lines and dressed in vermillion approaches Jia rather warily.  He carries in one arm a few books while a bursting satchel hangs off of his shoulder.

 

Jia, eyes wide, bows at the royal scribe.  “Chiwon- _nim_!  It’s nice to see you again.”

 

Loki’s eyes flit back and forth between Jia and the man, his ears perking up: Jia isn’t speaking Yuan anymore.

 

“It’s nice to see you too,” Scribe Kim Chiwon bows back.  “Are you feeling well, by the way?  You seemed sleepy at the council meeting earlier.”

 

“I’m alright,” Jia says, “but you know how Astronomer Lin is.  He makes lullabies out of lunar phases, but don’t tell him I said that.”

 

The scribe chuckles, and then he notices Loki.  His eyes grow.

 

“W- Who…?”

 

Jia glances back at Loki who’s staring the scribe down.  “He’s a visitor, here to learn about Hanwoo.”

 

“Does— Does the king—”

 

“The king is in the know,” says Jia confidently, assuaging the scribe’s unease.  “But we must be going! We’ll see you around, Chiwon-nim.”

 

Once again, Jia pulls Loki along by his wrist, putting as much distance between them and the scribe.  Chiwon isn’t one to flap his mouth, but Jia wasn’t expecting to meet palace people here either.  As they scamper away, Loki holds eye contact with the scribe whose pallor has _almost_ gone ghostly.

 

“Who was that man?” he asks over the din of the crowd.

 

“He’s a scribe from the palace,” she replies over her shoulder.  “He works directly for the king. Don’t worry, I told him—”

 

“That the king knows, I heard.”

 

Jia stops walking, dropping his hand.  She swivels around and gapes up at him.  He is so tall.

 

“You can understand Joseon too?”

 

“I can also speak it,” he replies _in the Joseon dialect_ , arched eyebrow included.

 

A god and a prince.  Jia briefly nibbles on her bottom lip.

 

“Alright then,” Jia says in Yuan.

 

 

 

They have been walking for a good minute before, finally, Jia stops.  They stand under the eave in front of one of the cream-colored buildings, the second to the last shop before the dirt path cuts to the left and goes back around.  A stone tablet hangs by the sliding door bearing the shop’s name but, of course, Loki can’t read it.

 

Before he can ask, Jia pushes him inside.  When Jia slides the door closed, the noise outside is instantly muffled.  They find themselves standing a tiny waiting area.  A small bench lies by a wall where calligraphy paintings of men and women hang, their clothing emphasized in the works.  Fabric squares in vivid colors are displayed on another wall. Interestingly, beside the fabrics, a diagram of a face with its parts labeled in Joseon script is plastered.

 

“Jia,” he mumbles, “where have you brought me?”

 

Jia answers him with a wide smile.

 

An elderly woman steps out into the waiting area from beyond the shop.  She wears a billowing white shirt over blue pants, a measuring tape draped over her neck.

 

Jia bows to the veteran dressmaker.  “Dasom-nim, good morning.”

 

“Ah, Jia-ssi!  How good it is to see you,” Dressmaker Shin Dasom smiles kindly.  “Already need a new _hanbok_?”

 

“Oh, I’m not here for myself,” Jia replies.  She gestures to Loki behind her.  “I’m here for my friend.  He needs some clothes.  Could you help us?”

 

While the tailor sizes Loki up with one brow flicked upward, Loki’s eyes are on Jia.  He can’t help but gaze at her fondly. _My friend_ , she said without hesitation.   _Perhaps there_ is _nothing wrong_.

 

“He isn’t from here,” the tailor states.

 

“He isn’t, but he’ll be here for quite some time, and I’ve got quite a lot in mind for him.”

 

“He’s big.  His pants alone will be a fortune.”

 

Jia grins.  That won’t be a problem at all.

 

Soon, Loki is shoved into a fitting room where scraps and spools of fabric lay strewn about.  Dressmaker Shin measures his body in a frantic speed that makes Loki feel kind of nervous.  She’s moving so fast, jotting down measurements on a parchment pad as she goes along.  At some point, she stuffs him in a black shirt and pins it in certain places. Loki recalls the times when he was measured for suits back in Asgard.  The dressmakers took their sweet time — _Dasom-nim_ would give them a run for their money with her efficiency.

 

Jia stands by the door, watching.  Her clothing order for Loki is comprised of seven sets of clothes: five casual outfits for daily wear, one court outfit in grey, and a three-piece hanbok (fit for a nobleman but Jia isn’t telling Loki that).  His head is also fitted for a _manggeon_ which is a struggle; apparently he’s got the biggest head of everyone Dressmaker Shin has ever worked on.  Whenever the measuring is over, the casual and court clothes as well as the headband can be easily started, but the hanbok is particularly special at this shop.  That’s the part Jia can’t wait for.

 

“How do you feel?” Jia asks Loki.

 

Loki grunts as the dressmaker tugs hard on the black shirt.  “Like a doll.”

 

The dressmaker’s hands pause.  She stares at Jia as if to ask, _He can speak Yuan?_ at which Jia only smiles.

 

“You’re going to be pretty like one, too, after this.”

 

“And when will I get to play dress-up with these clothes?”

 

“In about a week and a half,” Jia replies.  She turns to the dressmaker.  “Isn’t that right, Dasom-nim?  It’ll only take a week and a half to finish his clothes?”

 

“With how much you’re paying, Jia, it’ll definitely be quicker.”

 

Jia laughs.  “But please take your time.”

 

“Indeed, take your time,” Loki adds.  “I’ve got a feeling my wearing them will be the butt of Jia’s jokes if you don’t.”

 

The dressmaker stops entirely.  “Did you just speak Joseon?”

 

“Isn’t he talented?” Jia drawls.  Loki rolls his eyes.

 

 

 

When Loki is finished being measured (his feet size were also assessed so Jia can get them made too — _massive_ was the dressmaker’s note), he steps out into the tiny hall outside of the fitting room.  Jia, meanwhile, stays inside.

 

“Dasom-nim,” she whispers almost conspiratorially, “may I have a copy of his measurements?”

 

The dressmaker creases her brows.  “What for?”

 

“I’ll be having a hanfu made for him for the new year festival,” she says, eyes glinting, “but it’s a surprise.”

 

Jia also plans to have _another_ outfit made for him aside from the hanfu, but she keeps that to herself.  The tailor copies down Loki’s measurements onto a sheet of parchment. Jia folds it until it fits under her collar.

 

“Tell me, Jia,” the dressmaker begins, “who is he, really?”

 

Jia tells her the same thing she’s been telling everyone.

 

“ _Just_ a visitor?  Then why spend this much on him?”

 

Jia tilts her head.  “What do you mean?”

 

The dressmaker reads Jia’s puzzled face for a moment but she doesn’t answer, only opening the door to reveal Loki standing idly by, clueless to their conversation.

 

“Are you ready then?” the dressmaker asks him.

 

Loki gives her a blank look.  “Ready for what?”

 

As an answer, the dressmaker leads them to the back of the shop in front of a yellow paper door.  She slides the door just enough for herself to enter, then she closes it, leaving Loki and Jia out in the hallway.  Loki turns to Jia who is visibly buzzing out of excitement.

 

“What’s in there?” Loki asks quietly.

 

“You were measured for all of your clothes, but one of the outfits — the formal hanbok — can’t be made until you go in there,” Jia explains.  “Have you ever had your face read?”

 

“ _What_?”

 

“ _Gwansang_.”  Jia motions to her face.  “You’ll be having your face read by the oldest face-reader in Joseon.  From her readings, she’ll pick the colors of the fabric to use on your hanbok.  It’s more personal, that way.”

 

Loki scrunches his face in disapproval.  “I don’t need—”

 

The door slides open.  The dressmaker steps out.  “She’ll see you now.”

 

Loki snaps to Jia.  _Are you going in with me?_  With a radiant smile, Jia nods.

 

The room is lit up brightly by several lamps and candles.  It is perhaps the most spacious in the shop, and that is saying something.  Tall bookshelves are lined up on one wall. On the floor are a few pillows for seating as well as a low table.

 

Seated on the other side of the table is the oldest woman Loki has ever seen.  She reminds him of the head cook at Kay-Jia except more ancient somehow.  Her face is etched with wrinkles that it’s a bit difficult to discern where her eyes and mouth are.  She wears faded clothes to match her faded skin.  She is clearly aged, but the aura she gives off — especially with the way she is sitting, with one leg folded up and an arm draped over the knee — is not.  She seems challenging, and she seems to like looking like a challenge.

 

So Loki isn’t surprised by the _hardness_ of her voice when she speaks.

 

“You’ve got the biggest head I’ve ever seen,” she says, by way of greeting.  “Sit down… Big Head.”

 

Jia barks out a laugh from behind Loki but she quickly covers her mouth.  Joseon’s oldest face-reader heard her though.

 

The face-reader shifts her body to peek.  “Zhou Jia?”

 

Jia steps out from behind Loki.  “Good morning, Bohyun-nim.”

 

“Are you with— Big Head, _sit_ — Are you with Big Head here?”

 

“I am.”  Jia suppresses a smile.  “His name is Loki.”

 

“Bah, doesn’t matter, he can’t understand me.”

 

“I _can_ ,” Loki says pointedly.

 

“Well, don’t be so sensitive, Big Head,” Bohyun replies without batting an eyelash.  “You sit too, Jia, I haven’t seen your face in so long.”

 

Loki sits with his legs crossed while Jia sits with her legs folded underneath her.  Not once do Bohyun’s eyes leave Jia’s face, which gives Loki an opportunity to scrutinize the old woman.  Whether she’s reading Jia’s face or simply ogling, the barest smile ghosts her wrinkly mouth as though she beholds something rare and precious.  She rubs him off the wrong way, but clearly she isn’t as hard as she seems to be if she has a soft spot.

 

“Still the best face in the kingdom,” she comments, confirming Loki’s thoughts.

 

Jia just cups her own face in an awkward show of thanks.

 

The first time Jia had her face read was in Yuan when she was ten, for her district has its own version of face-reading.  She remembers  _mien shiang_  as calm, the reader reciting his assessment of Jia's face like he was reading aloud from a meditation manual.  Then at thirteen, before Jia had to make the biggest decision of her life, her parents brought her to Bohyun. The face-reader threw heaps of compliments and auspicious readings at Jia.  It was miles away from the tranquility she experienced in Yuan, but Bohyun’s eccentric character meant Jia enjoyed every second of it. She returned when she was twenty for her first hanbok — her colors were turquoise (tenacity), gold (material and figurative wealth), and purple (never-ending grace).

 

The face-reader hardens again when she turns to Loki.

 

“What are you here for, then?  Some fortune? Because I’ll tell you right now, Big Head, your face is _unlucky._ ”

 

Loki can’t care less about _gwansang_ , but the face-reader’s words spark something in him.  Something primal.

 

“My face?  I can’t even _see_ yours.  How old are you anyway, wasting away in this musty room—“

 

“The face is the cave of the spirit, and your cave is the mustiest of it all!”

 

Jia hides her laugh under her hand.  The thing about Bohyun’s eccentricity is that she doesn’t back down from anything.  She’s enthusiastic when she’s ecstatic; she’s biting when she’s irreverent.  She has never been one to abide by the customs of respect in Hanwoo — it’s more normal to see her arguing back and forth like this with a customer than flashing gracious, empty smiles at them.

 

“What celestial mistake put you together with Jia, eh?  Does the universe crave balance so much it paired your misfortune with her luck?”

 

Loki presses his mouth in a thin line.  He clenches his fists under the table, white knuckles and all.  He can say so much more to this flippant woman but he holds his tongue.

 

“Bohyun-nim,” Jia intercedes, “we’re only here to figure out what colors to use for his hanbok.”

 

“Well, that makes things easier, doesn’t it.”

 

Loki turns to Jia.  “Does face-reading even work on foreigners?”

 

“Face-reading has no nationality, visitor,” Bohyun answers him.  “We all have faces, thus we all have stories, fates to which we must answer.  And you do have an unlucky face… but under the scars, I can tell you’re a noble.  Perhaps even royalty.”

 

Loki beholds the face-reader as if for the first time.  Beside him, Jia is frozen.

 

The face-reader makes no note of their reactions.

 

“Are you ready, then?”

 

“Oh— I- I—“ Jia stammers as she clambers up to her feet.  “I think I should leave for this.”

 

Loki is alarmed.  “What, why?”

 

“I want to be respectful to you and your reading,” she tells him in Yuan.   _And also because she just said you might be a royal._ “I’ll be in the waiting area, don’t worry.”

 

_I don’t want to be alone with this woman!_

 

“ _Yah_ , you’re a grown man,” the face-reader addresses Loki.  “Why are you afraid of a little old frail lady like me.”

 

“I doubt you’re _frail_ , little old lady,” Loki scowls.  Bohyun only roars in laughter.

 

“I promise I won’t leave the shop,” Jia reassures him as she makes to leave.  “Scream if she bites.”

 

“ _Jia_ —”

 

The rest of Loki’s plea hits empty space.  When Jia slides the door shut, he doesn’t face Bohyun right away.  Tension settles upon the room like humid air, like a swarm of locusts.

 

Bohyun smirks.  “You’ve got a little crush on Jia, don’t you, foreigner.”

 

The face that Loki makes is one of apprehension and unbelief.

 

“Look, _Bohyun-nim_.  If you haven’t sensed it yet, I have no desire to be here.  I am only here because _Jia_ wants—”

 

“So sensitive.”  Bohyun tuts her tongue.

 

“Why, you—“

 

“Your life has been hard, I can tell.  You haven’t been met with much kindness and now, you meet Jia, and she brings you to the most expensive shop in Joseon because _she wants to_ and you do not know how to respond in kind.”

 

It’s stuffy in the room.  Loki’s breath is coming in quick and shallow.  His nostrils are flared, lips pressed tightly.

 

He grits his teeth.  “You don’t know me.”

 

“No,” Bohyun says, “but I can see your face, and the way you hold yourself.  I can hear your voice, your tone, your bitterness.  I can feel your spirit, I can sense how heavy it is.  And maybe I don’t know everything about you, but right now I know enough.”

 

If words are knives, this woman just stabbed Loki in a dark alleyway and robbed him of everything but his dignity.  When was the last time Loki felt like he was bruised by words? When he learned about his true heritage?

 

“Your face…” Bohyun brings her leg down so she can lean forward to examine Loki more closely.  “There is so much there.  Clashing.  What a struggle it must be to possess it.”

 

“Are you through?”

 

“Not quite,” she utters.  “I still have to tell you my readings of your face in detail, like what your high cheekbones and thin lips mean and _believe_ me, they mean plenty.  That’s what you’re paying for, is it not?  Well, I guess Jia is the one paying.”

 

Loki leans forward menacingly, sneering.  When he speaks, his words are sharp too.

 

“Why don’t you keep the money _and_ the readings, Bohyun-nim?  That way, you earn your wage, I don’t have to hear your voice, and we both win.  I swear I won’t tell.”

 

Bohyun barely shrugs.  “Fine by me. But I do have to tell you your colors.  Shop policy.”

 

Loki gestures for her to go on.  Bohyun’s face suddenly shifts, hardening again, a visage of utter coldness and indifference that makes Loki regret his disrespect.  She recites her final assessment without pausing for breath.

 

“Your toil will continue.  Extreme emotional labor like pulling the sun to rise in the west.  You might reap something in the hardship, but it will fade, like the glamour of your childhood that tossed you aside, or did it toss you?  Still, you will search for redemption and you might find it but it will fade, again, until your constant search for grace becomes you.”

 

When the face-reader finishes clobbering Loki, the tension in the room dissipates at once.  In its escape, it mocks Loki. His shoulders have fallen, and although he frowns deeply, he can’t look away from the face-reader.

 

“Unlucky face,” she mumbles.

 

“None of those are colors,” Loki deadpans.

 

“Oh, right!” the face-reader starts, suddenly bright like she didn’t just unload ill omen upon Loki.  “Your colors are turquoise, gold, and purple.  Please tell the dressmaker on your way out, thank you, come again.”

 

 

 

Jia is sitting patiently on the bench in the waiting area, drumming her fingers against her thighs.  When she stepped out of the face-reader’s room, relief flooded her senses.  Bohyun's reading truly spooked her, but her leaving out of respect was genuine.  Upon returning to the waiting area, she instructed one of her guards to order footwear for Loki from the shoe shop on the other side of the marketplace.  The shoes — two regular pairs, one pair for court, and another formal pair for the hanbok — should be finished at the same time his clothes are.  Afterwards, she pored over Loki’s measurements on the bench: he _is_ tall, long-limbed with a lean, well-proportioned frame.  It isn’t a wonder that Jia paid as much as she did when Loki is using up this much fabric and manual labor.

 

Loki hasn’t screamed, so Jia ventures that the face-reading must be going well.  Nonetheless, she is surprised to see Loki appear in the waiting area so soon. It has been, what, less than ten minutes?

 

She stands.  “It’s done?”

 

“Let’s leave.”  Loki marches off and out of the shop.

 

Lost, Jia follows after him.  Outside the shop, she finds him taking deep breaths through flared nostrils, his eyes wild and unfocused, fists clenching and unclenching.

 

The reading didn’t go well, then.  What’s worse: Jia has never seen Loki like his.

 

“Do you…”  Jia breathes deeply.  Her voice is quiet when she asks, “Are you hungry?  Would you like to come with me and get something to eat?”

 

Loki turns to her like he forgot that she’s there.  Suddenly, his fury towards the face-reader shifts to Jia.

 

“Why did you make me sit through that?!” he spits, venomous.  “Why did you leave?!”

 

Jia shakes her head vehemently.  “Loki, what happened—”

 

“If you hate me so much then just tell me instead of making some old woman do your dirty work under the pretense of ‘face-reading’!  Do you take me for some stupid, _sensitive_ child—”

 

Jia squares her shoulders.  “Watch your tongue.”

 

Loki can’t hear her nor even really see her; all he sees is red, all he hears is a thin, high-pitched noise.  He can’t feel himself inch closer and closer to Jia in his rage, but Jia maintains composure.

 

Around them, people are gawking.  Jia’s guards, who were posted far enough to warrant space for the head of the court and her guest but close enough for safety, are now steadily approaching the scene.  Their hands grip their weapons tightly.

 

“I haven’t asked you to do anything for me and if I _bothered_ you last night then why hide it, Jia?  Your guise is _useless_ ,” Loki hisses, his face hovering right above hers.  “Have you _tired_ of caring for me, Jia?  Are you that desperate to be rid of me—”

 

Loki’s tirade is cut by the keening sound of swords being drawn.  All five of Jia’s guards who came with them to Joseon are now surrounding them.  Two stand behind Loki with their spears pointed at his back; another one is behind Jia, spear at the ready.  The last two guards block the space between Loki and Jia with their  _liuyedao_ , blades glinting in the bright morning, the curved end of the swords aimed at Loki’s neck.

 

The terror on Loki’s face when he realizes what he’s done...  All at once, he can sense the eyes of every person in the marketplace bearing down on him.  The faces of the guards dare him to make another move.  Jia stays still, the eye of the storm.

 

Not once did it occur to Loki that Jia’s guards aren’t there just to protect the two of them.  They’re also there to protect her from _him_.

 

Loki isn’t sure which one paralyzes him more: the absence of his magic with which he can defend himself, or this revelation that he isn’t as welcome in Hanwoo as he presumed himself to be.

 

Jia raises a hand.  Slowly, reluctantly, the guards relax, beginning with the sword-wielding guards to the ones holding spears.  They put down their weapons, but they don’t move away.

 

Loki can’t meet Jia’s eyes.  She steps forward and takes his hand.  She waits for her heartbeat to calm down before speaking.

 

“Look at me.”

 

When Loki doesn’t move, Jia places her other hand on his cheek.  The way he nuzzles his face against her palm makes her heart ache.  She turns his face to meet hers, and when she sees how _miserable_ his green eyes have become, her heart breaks.

 

“I’m sorry,” she speaks softly.

 

“ _No…_ ”

 

“I’m sorry,” she says again, firmer this time, stroking his cheek with her thumb.  “Whatever happened in there, you won’t have to go through it again.  Ever.  I promise.”

 

Over the one week and one day that Loki has been awake, Jia has made him several promises, each of which she has kept.  They were all small, but she fulfilled them.  This promise is bigger, at least to Loki, but he allows himself to relax, allows the weight to lift off his shoulders.  Jia continuously kept her small promises; she can keep the big ones, too.

 

She brings her hands back to herself, leaving Loki feeling oddly empty.

 

“Now” — Jia claps once, smiling up at her guest — “let’s go eat?”

 

 

 

They leave Joseon, to Loki’s relief.  On their way out of the marketplace, people look on them, mostly Loki.  He shrinks behind Jia once more, his arms around her tightening involuntarily, and he doesn’t surface until they’ve left the district entirely.

 

Jia has decided to take him to Siato Square.  About thirty minutes away from Joseon, it is the kingdom’s most cosmopolitan area.  There, the districts converge in a series of shops and stalls where vendors sell every imaginable item their districts boast of.  Jia doesn’t go down to Siato often, but what she looks forward to the most when she does is the extraordinary array of food.

 

When they arrive at the square, Loki parts his mouth.

 

Siato Square is enormous.  The crowd size at the marketplace in Joseon is _nothing_ compared to the square.  In every available space, there is a person.  The noise is deafening — sellers hawking, buyers bargaining, laughter among friends, children giggling and wailing and running around, the folksy tune of a  _shamisen_ flowing throughout the square _._ A few tents are set up where people, mostly the elderly, play all sorts of board games.  Stores and stalls, bars and eateries, tea shops and lounges fill the square.  As he dismounts Jia’s horse, Loki squints in the distance, but he can’t see where the square ends or begins.

 

“Where to start!”  Jia exclaims, turning to Loki.  “What are you in the mood for? Soup?  Rice?  Something light, something heavy?  Sweet, sour, savory?”

 

Loki lets out a chuckle.  With Jia’s bubbliness, it’s hard to imagine they had an argument earlier.  (Yet it is also easy, because her guards haven’t stopped scowling at him since they left Joseon.)

 

“Pick for me,” he shrugs.

 

Allowing Jia to pick for him is both a blessing and a curse.  She flies excitedly from one stall to another with no regard whatsoever to her person.  From one stall, she has Loki try Joseon street food like _tteokbokki_ , stubby sticks of rice cake stir-fried in hot-pepper paste.  The vendor, upon recognizing Jia, gives her and Loki free _hwajeon_ , flat rice cakes topped with edible flower petals and drizzled with honey.

 

While snacking, they move along the stalls.  Jia purchases two jars of peppermint candy, one of which she gives to Loki.  Then she beckons her guards over and has them buy food for themselves while she and Loki continue on.

 

A mouthwatering scent reaches Loki.  He sniffs at the air, noting smoke and meat and something savory.

 

“What is that?”

 

Jia sniffs hard.  “Oh, _good idea_.”

 

In no time, she’s pulling him to a larger food stall where the vendors are charbroiling _sate_.  Jia buys two of the chicken skewers.  Again, she is recognized, and she’s given an extra skewer and a generous pool of peanut sauce.

 

“Dip the skewer into the sauce,” she instructs Loki.  “But be careful, it’s hot.”

 

Loki bites into the grilled white meat drenched in homemade dipping sauce.  His taste buds are met with a burst of flavor — it is savory, sweet, sour, salty, and spicy all at once.  His mouth waters even more.

 

Loki’s cheeks are stuffed with chicken.  “Do you think you can have your cooks recreate this?”

 

Jia giggles.  “We can try.”

 

Finally, they — Jia, Loki, and the guards — make their way to an Ifugao eating-house on the other side of the square.  When they enter, the owner recognizes Jia and directs her band farther inside the establishment where the best tables are, she says.  Jia’s guards sit two tables away from Jia and Loki while they sit at a table by the wall.

 

Loki catches how the patrons in the eatery goggle at Jia.  Their eyes hover over him, too, but they make their way back to Jia as quickly as they left.  That, plus the fact that she’s been recognized thrice by three different vendors.

 

“How do people know you?” he asks her quietly.

 

Jia shrugs, but she’s smiling.  “Who knows?”

 

Loki sits back in his chair.  “You still aren’t telling me what it is you do.”

 

“It’s a _game_ , Loki, I’m not going to ruin it.”

 

“All I know is that you own a whole court to yourself teeming with guards and servants, you wake up early almost every day to ‘go to other courts’, and that you’re on a royal council.”

 

Jia arches a brow.  “Where did you hear that last bit?”

 

“From the healer that replaced my bandages this morning,” explains Loki, “and then again through that royal scribe.  So you _are_ on a royal council?  As what?”

 

Jia smiles before shrugging again.  Before Loki can protest, the server approaches their table.  In the Ifugao dialect, Jia orders for herself and Loki: rice, pork _sinigang_  (tender meat and river-spinach swimming in a flavorful tamarind-infused stew) as well as _sisig,_ an ensemble of seasoned minced pork and chopped onions and chili pepper doused with some vinegar.

 

“And water,” Loki adds in Ifugao, making the server’s eyes widen.

 

“And green tea afterwards,” Jia finishes.

 

The food arrives soon after, aromatic smoke billowing from each plate and bowl.  Loki relaxes into the hot stew, the tang of the soup resting on his tongue just right.  Just as he’s about to eat a spoonful of rice and minced pork, a middle-aged woman gingerly approaches their table.

 

“Excuse me, are you Zhou Jia?” she asks in the common tongue, wringing her hands.

 

Jia nods, her mouth filled with food, and the woman bows.

 

“My son just joined the military!  He’s in the navy.  Do you know him, by any chance?”

 

“Ah, I don’t,” Jia replies, “but my friend Kai might.  He’s also in the navy.  I can ask him, if you’d like.”

 

The woman shakes her head, then she thanks Jia for her time and bids farewell.  As she walks away, Loki stares at Jia while she resumes eating.  Why did the woman ask Jia if she knows her son who just joined the military?

 

Loki stiffens.

 

“Are you—” He looks to the woman then back to Jia.  “Are you some kind of military advisor?”

 

“Advisor?”

 

“You’re on a royal council and that woman assumed you knew her son in the navy.”  Loki sits back in his chair.  “You’re a military advisor.”

 

Jia smiles behind a spoonful of soup, but she says nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- jia and loki rly went on a date but they didn’t even know sjsjsjddj big clown energy!  
> \- Y’ALL my feelings while writing the “hold tight” bit were DISCOSTING is this how k-drama writers feel  
> \- back in 2011/12, i watched a 2NE1 vlog where chaerin was being fitted for a hanbok for her 21st(?) birthday and the dressmaker read her face to select the colors of the fabric — i didn’t know about gwansang then but this chapter takes from that interaction  
> \- loki’s hanbok colors are based off of his suit in ragnarok bc uhhh it’s superior  
> \- there’s a lot that goes into gwansang (and you can’t rly find _detailed_ info online) so i didn’t, like, 100% analyze loki (or tom, whichever)  
> \- their argument was totally unplanned btw it just got angsty as i was writing & i just went ‘¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ welp ig there’s yellin’
> 
> ALMOST 300 HITS HELLO??? every time i update, i'm more and more thankful to you guys — those who give kudos, comment, bookmark, those who just read, or even those who just clicked on this by accident lol :'D by whichever wind brought you here, i hope you enjoyed even a teeny bit of what you've read. idk how to tell you guys how excited i am to go on this journey w/ all of you but i AM SO EXCITED and i'm so grateful for your patience and love and support. again i love you all! thank you!
> 
> next chapter will begin with a continuation of this chapter and will end with a time-skip which will lead us eventually to the new year festival :D see you then!


	8. 七 white scar [T]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't give Jia a sword. Or a stick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
>  **Mentions of violence.**
> 
> sorry this chapter took so long omg!!! it's super lengthy (20 pages WHEW) but that's okay lol we out here
> 
> i was listening to "would you believe" by sam kim while writing a part of this chapter and it made me emo bc the song is loki baring his soul to jia hngggg
> 
> also by the time this chapter is posted (22 june), tom is currently in shanghai.......life imitates art.

They return to Kay-Jia in the early afternoon, after Jia purchases a few more souvenirs from the square.  On the way back up the mountain, Loki grew sleepy, unabashedly snuggling Jia with his arms secure but relaxed around her waist.  It’s uncomfortable, what with riding on horseback, but he’s able to get some shut-eye. As soon as he dismounts Jia’s horse, though, he excuses himself to his room for a serious nap.

 

Meanwhile, Jia sends two of her servants to the Zhou family’s dressmaker with the copy of Loki’s measurements, as well as an order for a hanfu for the festival and the special outfit Jia has in mind (footwear included).  The dressmaker lives in the district about twenty minutes away from Kay-Jia, and her shop has been fashioning the Zhou’s wardrobe since Jia’s parents’ wedding. There is no doubt that she’ll start on Jia’s order today, which means both sets should be done by the end of this week, which is exactly one week away from the festival.

 

Jia stifles a yawn as she watches the servants leave the court.  She heads for the main house, ready to doze off.

  
  


 

 

The sun has just set when Loki wakes up from his post-lunch slumber.  The world outside is painted in the gentle indigo of the dusk, a light cool breeze passing through the court.  Loki leaves his bed, opens the window, and watches the scene in the inner courtyard. Some servants are still out and about; guards continue their patrol.  The wolves of the court howl into the coming night. He must have been asleep for over three hours. Usually by this time, he’d be hungry, but right now, he isn’t.

 

As he gazes out of the window, he thinks back to his… interaction with the face-reader in Joseon.  Admittedly, he is still rankled. While he knows _truly_ that he doesn’t care about it, everything that she said still rattled him because her words — as much as it pierces his pride to admit — are accurate.

 

Loki _has_ labored; he _has_ had an unkind life.  The face-reader’s words become a mirror when Loki considers the hurtful fact that much of the reason he’s suffered is because of himself.  Perhaps he did the things he did because of pain, because he thought the right choice was to let go, because the wretched idea of power gave him another reason to live.  There might be valid reasons as to why he did the things he did… but he still did them.

 

Yet meeting Jia — that feels plenty like saving grace.  The kind that Loki would search for on his own but wouldn’t have found.  The kind that meets him right where he is, and requires nothing in return.

 

Loki shakes his head.  So he has had a horrible life, but that has nothing to do with how “unlucky” his face is.  His physiognomy can’t possibly give away his entire life story like that, can it?

 

He turns away from the window.  Like magnets, the stack of books on the desk ahead pulls his sight.  His face levels as an idea hatches in his mind: Loki can learn about _gwansang_ , to have solid proof that he doesn’t have an unlucky face.  It’s going to take books — books that he won’t be able to read, books that’ll confuse instead of enlighten him — but he feels that it’ll help to have a physical object in his hand that may fill in some blanks for him, however incomplete.

 

Upon closing the window, Loki leaves his room.  He doesn’t know where he might find books on face-reading, so he figures he’ll just ask the next servant he sees.  He wanders the guest wing, void of any other person but him. When he’s in the courtyard, he spots a servant heading to the servants’ quarters.

 

Loki calls out, making the servant freeze like he’s been caught for every wrong thing he’s done in his life.  He turns around cautiously.

 

“S- Sir?”

 

“Do you know where I might find information on face-reading?” asks Loki.  “Books, a manual, anything?”

 

The servant, relieved, nods his head.  “We have a library here in Kay-Jia, sir.  A library tower.”

 

 _By the Norns.  A library tower_.  When the servant offers to take him there, Loki accepts immediately.  On the way, he fills with yearning for the collection of books in his old room in Asgard.  In his mind flash moments of tranquility that he spent immersed in worlds beyond his own.  How he wishes to hold one of those tattered, well-read books now.

 

The library tower is located on the west side of the court, tucked behind an immense building Loki assumes is some storehouse.  The tower is massive, three-tiered and painted red with prominent eaves of teal, the three levels resembling cubes stacked atop each other.  A small set of steps leads up to the entrance. Inside, against the wall on the far left, is a staircase; directly in front of the tower’s entrance is a teal door.

 

When the servant opens it, Loki bites back a cry at the sheer magnitude of books that beholds him, and this is only the first floor.

 

“The first and second levels are the library, sir,” the servant informs.

 

“What about the third?”

 

“It’s just the head of the court’s office.”

 

 _Jia’s office_.  Loki gives him a nod and the servant bows his goodbye.

 

It almost doesn’t matter that Loki can’t read any of these books (and scrolls, he notices as he explores the room further).  Just being in their presence settles him in a pleasant, peaceful way. He may not be hungry for food, but he is ready to consume whatever the library may serve him.

  
  


 

 

Although Jia wanted to nap for longer, she could only rest for forty-five minutes.  After waking, she went to her office and she has been in it for the past several hours, devoting her time and undivided attention to her notes on Hanwoo’s sacred texts.

 

A small part of her refuses the idea that there is no mention of Loki at all in them, particularly because she has yet to see texts from outside Hanwoo.  And even though _that_ — seeing foreign material — seems far-fetched, still a feeling in her gut is pushing her to hold off the research instead of stopping entirely.

 

Then Jia remembers the moment when Loki first woke up, when he was confounded by his whereabouts… and _when_.  What if he does exist, but the texts in which he lives have not been made yet?

 

Jia sighs.  She wants to know more, beyond the little she knows now.  She recalls wanting to ask him eventually about himself, but only when they’re alone and when the time is right.  Though they’ve been alone plenty of times, the time hasn’t felt right. Not yet.

 

Jia sets her notes down, sitting back in her chair and sighing so deeply that it comes out rattled.   _Her_ notes aren’t providing her answers, so she picks up one of her father’s journals and opens it.

 

...Only to be overcome with grief so powerful upon seeing his handwriting that Jia drops it on the desk with a thud.

 

Jia misses her parents so much, all of a sudden.   She always does, but the pain has dulled over the years like a hum but it is always there, and when it resurfaces, it aches.  In the plainest way, she wants to see them again, smiling and laughing and alive. It has been ten years since they passed, overcome by... another kind of grief that Jia also feels in the periphery of her mind, and while she can confidently say that she has recovered from their deaths, there will always be a hole in her heart the size of her parents that will never mend.  Her mind fills with an image of her family, and it takes Jia to physically shake herself out of it before it gets worse.

 

“Well,” Jia murmurs, “that’s the end for tonight.”

 

She pulls back, staring at the piles of books and scrolls on her desk.  She stands and begins to arrange the piles by batch from which floor they originate: the first belongs to the second floor, the second belongs to the first, then the scrolls which also belong to the first floor.

 

She brings the first batch to the second floor.  She can’t exactly remember from which spaces in the shelves she plucked the books, but she does catalogue their new locations now.  Afterwards, she returns to her office for the second batch.

 

When Jia opens the door to the first floor, she yelps.

 

Loki is hunched over a book at one of the tables in the room.  He snaps to the door, ready to lash out at the intruder, but he relaxes when he sees that it’s Jia.

 

He is quite literally the last person she expects to see here.   Jia takes a moment to collect herself.

 

“Good evening to you,” she greets him.

  
  


 

 

Loki’s heart might have skipped at first sight of the library, but it soon faded when he actually dove into the collection.  The impressive mine of knowledge frustrated him to his core as he searched, helplessly at first, for any book that might have to do with face-reading.  His plan: to find one that has a diagram of a face with the parts labeled, much like the poster in the dress-and-face-reading shop in Joseon.

 

Finding a diagram labeled in Joseon proved fruitless soon when Loki realized that every book in Kay-Jia’s library is in Yuan.   He was about to storm off when he pulled out a book from the back shelves, plenty of its pages filled with untidy notes made by another person.  More importantly, the book proclaims the diagram of a face right there on the first page, and then again in the following chapters of the book, labeled like he hoped, and in his heart he knew it is a book on face-reading.  Relieved, he took it to one of the tables to pore over.

 

The relief subsides quickly because, again, _it is in Yuan_.  Loki slams a fist on the table, growling curses under his breath that would frighten his mother.  He hates that he can’t read the book, no matter how many diagrams of a face it has, but he also hates even more the fact that if he tried to learn Yuan, he would master it rapidly and _this_ wouldn’t be a problem.  If the opportunity arises for him to be taught the dialect, give him a month and he _will_ conquer it.

 

But that is the condition: he needs a teacher.  He’d be lying if he says he hasn’t considered asking Jia to teach him, and while she might be willing (really she would jump on it — after all, she can tease him even more as his teacher, his _superior_ ), she is much too busy to tutor him.

 

Loki has been struggling with the book for however long when Jia entered the room with a squawk.

 

“Are you... reading?” she asks after greeting him.  She shifts the books on her waist. “I thought you couldn’t read Yuan.”

 

“I _can’t_ but—”  Loki frowns deeply, fists clenching.  He keeps his concentration on the page as though willing the symbols to translate themselves.

 

Jia saunters over to peer at the book over Loki’s shoulder.  “What do you have here— Oh.”

 

Beneath her, a blush threatens to creep up Loki’s neck.  He tightens his fists even harder.

 

“Still thinking about earlier?” asks Jia softly.

 

A pause.  Loki’s voice is tiny when he replies.  “My face isn’t unlucky.”

 

Jia could have laughed at how timid Loki sounded, but she doesn’t.  Instead, her heart crinkles a bit.  Whatever happened at his face-reading...  He might have been averse to it, but clearly something about the reading has rattled him.

 

She excuses herself for a second to return the books to the shelves.  When she comes back to the table, she gestures at the book under Loki’s chin.

 

“I can read it for you,” she offers.

 

Loki quickly looks up at Jia.  He blinks at her, face blank. Jia, not waiting for an answer, pulls up a chair and sits beside him.

 

Like water bursting through a broken dam, information floods Loki’s brain as Jia reads to him the texts from the page.  But like swimming through a flood, comprehending the text is a challenge. Mentions of five elements (“wood, fire, earth, metal, and water”) and how they connect to the “twelve houses” located on a person’s face; “man power” and “heaven power”; the “public self” and the “private self”; and _plenty_ of other details that Loki… just... isn’t getting to.

 

“Jia, I—” Loki shakes his head, his face cradled in one hand.  “You must understand that I sincerely want to learn—”

 

“No, I know,” Jia chuckles.  “I understand. This is… a lot.  I’ve never delved this deeply into _mien shiang_.”

 

“ _Mien shiang_?”  Loki groans, flinging his hands over his face.  “Jia, I thought we’ve been reading about _gwansang_.”

 

Jia laughs, half miffed and half out of it.  “No, this is a book on Yuan face-reading.”

 

“Is it any similar to Joseon face-reading?”

 

Jia pauses.  “Yes and no?”

 

Loki grumbles again, to Jia’s amusement.   _This is hopeless_ , he mourns.

 

“Here,” Jia says, holding up the book, “I’ll flip through this and see if it gets any better.”

 

Jia flicks back to the front.  From the beginning of the book, she scans each page closely and quickly.  She’s about twenty pages in when she flips another page, then stops.

 

Loki sees her freeze.  “What, did you find something?  Jia?”

 

Jia’s shoulders level.  The notes scrawled all over the page are in her mother’s handwriting.  She recognizes the tight script, the crowdedness. Her mother used to write as fast as she could think, and she marked on the books she read instead of keeping journals like Jia’s father.  At the top of the page, in a prominent font size, her mother proclaims: _Important — mien shiang isn’t set in stone_.  Then in the margin of a passage on _fumu gong_ , her mother writes: _Ask Jia’s face-reader — how much more time should_ xingan _and I spend with her to ensure good childhood?_

 

 _Xingan_ was what Jia’s parents called each other.   _My heart and soul_.  Here in Yuan, the term is only used among couples, a testament to their love, how much they literally cannot bear to live without one another.  Between Jia’s parents, _xingan_ might as well had been their names, they said it so much.  And they really worried about not spending enough time with Jia when that was all they did, from the moment she took her first breath to the moment they breathed their last.

 

_There was no need to wonder, Mama.  You and Baba were perfect.  You were enough._

 

Loki watches Jia intensely as her eyes remain glued to the page.  Her eyes are always so expressive, always revealing her deepest emotions and judgments.  Right now, they are the saddest Loki has ever seen them.  They gloss over suddenly, Loki can barely make out the water forming over her eyes, and he doesn’t hold himself back when he reaches a hand over to her arm.

 

“Jia,” he calls to her softly.

 

Jia looks up at him, blinking rapidly, mouth parted, centering herself back in the present.

 

“What did you find?”

 

She returns to the book, surveying the other bits of her mother’s notes on the page.  She can hear her mother’s voice in these words, melodic and gentle like music. When Jia looks back up, a single tear falls from her eyes.

 

Loki is alarmed even as Jia cleans her face with the sleeves of her hanfu.  Even as she laughs at herself and grins at him to hide the pain.

 

“Do you ever miss your family?” she asks, and if Loki was taken aback by seeing that teardrop, her question pushes him over the edge.

 

He opens his mouth but he stays quiet.  _I do, I think_.  The words he can’t seem to say.  _I do, but I do not know if they feel the same way_.

 

“You don’t have to answer that,” Jia assures him, both a relief and a gut-punch.  “It’s just… My mother has written all over this. See?”—she turns the book around so Loki can look—“All of that is her.”

 

 _Mother_ … Loki’s head fills with Frigga.

 

“Your mother… Is she...” he begins, then pulls back a bit before continuing.  “Where is she?  Where are your parents?”

 

Jia smiles sadly.  “Gone.  To a better place.”

 

To Loki, Jia has always been delicate, but not the kind that you hold.  But here, now, looking at her as she reminisces with a threatening fragility, Loki would be lying if he said he doesn’t want to do just that — hold her.  Because he doesn’t want to lie, he doesn’t do anything. Instead, he brings his hand back to himself.

 

“Tell me about them,” he requests.  “Tell me about your family.”

 

Jia flashes Loki a funny look but he’s serious.  Quietly, she gives in.

 

“Well… Mama,” she begins slowly, “was a musician for the royal court.  When she and Baba married, she chose to stay home to take care of the family.  But as a musician, she played the _guzheng_ — this long and heavy string instrument — and she was _good_ , the best in court in fact.  She was so good that when Baba first saw her play, he knew that she was the woman he would marry.”

 

Jia’s father had been strolling through the royal court in hopes of finding inspiration for his poetry when he heard the rogue twang of the _guzheng_ flowing about him.  It seemed to weave with the wind, he said, giving melody to nature when there was none.  With his heart, he followed the sound. It led him to one of the pavilions in the royal garden, where a beautiful woman with long, shiny black hair was plucking at the instrument, a wistful smile upon her face.  When his eyes landed on her, he stopped. The earth stilled and left until it was just her, him, and the music from her fingertips. As she played, he found inspiration for his poetry. As she played, he found his future.

 

Now it’s Loki’s turn to give Jia a funny look, but she’s serious.  Grinning, but serious.

 

“See, Baba was a romantic,” Jia justifies.  “He was a scholar _and_ a poet.  He emphasized education and knowledge, part of which is having this tower built.  But he also emphasized passion, and gentleness, and love. To know how a tree grows but also to appreciate it from seed to fruit.  He was also a royal advisor, which was how he met Mama. Do I still have your attention?”

 

 _Always_.  “Go on,” Loki says.

 

“Alright, but if you fall asleep, it isn’t my fault.”

 

Loki smiles a little.

 

“Where was I?  Ah, right, Baba.”  Jia clears her throat and closes the _mien shiang_ book.  “My mother played at court events, but sometimes she would play for the royal family privately.  And my father could never find the opportunity to talk to her until one day, he asked King Enero if he could work on his books with him in the royal study where my mother would be playing.  The king immediately sensed my father’s interest in his musician, and he said yes.”

 

“King Enero?” asks Loki.  “Do you mean the same…?”

 

“Yes.  Dragonfire, Queen Amihan’s husband.  He became king quite young, at twenty, but he and my father knew each other since they were children.”

 

Loki blinked.  “ _What_?”

 

“Ah.  Right, well,”  Jia backtracks.  “See, the thing is, my father and the king were best friends.”

 

Loki suddenly groans, throwing his head back with his hands over his face.

 

Jia giggles.  “Why are you making that jarring noise?”

 

“ _That_ ’s why you’re elbow to elbow with the king and the queen!”

 

“Uh, sure,” Jia says before laughing again.

 

“So it _is_ nepotism.”

 

Jia grins.  “Perhaps, but just a smidge.”

 

For Jia has worked hard too.  While she had her parents’ privilege growing up, she didn’t bask in their glory at all.  Instead she continually honed her skills and character to become the kind of person that commands honor and respect even before she says a word.  Her own occupation is taxing enough, in more ways than one, requiring her to fit a mold that took men of steel to squirm into but she broke it instead without losing herself.  Her natural talent and drive, passion and dedication, have led her to become a figure of her own, one that doesn’t need to be overshadowed by her parents’ achievements.

 

“Would you like to hear more or not?”

 

“Does ‘more’ involve your father actually being third in line for the throne?  Are you about to tell me that you’re a princess?”

 

“I _wish_  but no.”

 

Jia is amused.  She waits for Loki to collect himself.  Eventually, he tells her to go on with the story.  She giggles a bit before continuing.

 

“ _So_ , the king said yes.  But aside from talking to my mother, my father also intended to give her this poem that he wrote for her — about her — when he first saw her.”

 

_I want to be your love forever and ever_

_Without break or decay._

_When the hills are all flat,_

_The rivers are all dry._

_When it thunders in winter,_

_When it snows in summer._

_When heaven and earth mingle,_

_Not till then will I part from you._

 

“It’s beautiful, and when my father gave it to my mother, she thought so too.  But she also thought it was too forward. Here was this random advisor declaring his undying love for her when they’ve never said a word to one another before that day.”

 

Jia doesn’t recite the poem to him, but Loki lets out a quiet chuckle that Jia picks up.

 

“Uncle Guolai, my father’s brother — the one whose clothes you used to wear — he told him pretty much the same thing that my mother said.”  Jia laughs. “I think the king egged him on too hard that he forgot decorum.  In fact, my sister and I used to—”

 

“Hold _on_ ,” Loki interrupts her.  He leans forward, mincing the word.  “ _Sister_?”

 

Jia’s face falls.  “I’ve never told you about my siblings?”

 

 _Siblings?!_    “Jia.  Never.”

 

“Oh! _Alright_.  Well— Alright.”  Jia heaves a breath.  “I have a sister and a brother.  Both of them are younger than me.”

 

_How much more do I not know about this woman?_

 

“Well, where are they?”

 

“Jiyi, my sister, is in the army.  So is Uncle Guolai.  They’re in the same company, stationed at the pass.  My brother Xiaohan…”

 

A frown worms its way onto Jia’s face.  Her eyes dart away from Loki to somewhere behind him, beyond him.  Wherever her mind has gone, it is deep and dark.  Loki recognizes the sorrow on her face because he has worn that before.

 

What’s worse: Loki has seen that on Thor before, when he saw Loki again after his fall.

 

“Who is Xiaohan?” he asks carefully, afraid that the memory might hurt Jia, afraid that it might remind him of himself.

 

“Xiaohan is… Xiaohan is our youngest.  And we don’t—” Jia swallows, still not looking at Loki.  “I don’t know where he is.”

 

A cloud passes over Loki.  He shouldn’t have asked.

 

Jia shakes her head, solemn.  “He left home when he was thirteen and every day we waited for him to come back or… or be brought back if he...”

 

 _...had died_.  The words catch in Jia’s throat.  Years of silence continue to pass from the moment Xiaohan left till now.  Nothing new has come up, but Jia continues to hope that wherever he is, he is alive.

 

Growing up, though, Xiaohan was quite a troubled child.  He brought mischief with him wherever he went, but mostly he incited unrest on his own.  He was the bane of his elders’ existence. Reports of violent outrage during studies that resulted in more than three of his teachers bruised.  Small shops ransacked by him and his gaggle of “friends” whom he really saw as nothing more than puppets. Kay-Jia’s wolves, who got along with the Zhou, would snarl at him and he would taunt them, throwing rocks and sticks and, one time, a dagger.  The wolf he struck recovered, but Xiaohan just kept turning into something else.

 

Something that his family tried to love out of him.  They doted on him every chance they got, showering him with hugs, peppering him with kisses, wrapping him up in encouragement because those things worked on everybody else… but not Xiaohan.  Xiaohan rejected them. He found his family’s adoration repulsive.

 

So repulsive that he eventually got physical.  When Jia was fifteen, after she’d passed the most complicated examination in the kingdom with flying colors, she embraced every single member of her family out of joy.  Xiaohan’s tiny frame fit perfectly in her arms, but he tried to squirm away. Jia wouldn’t let go, awashed in her glee, unaware that Xiaohan was holding a blade that he’d found lying around.  As he shoved her away, tiny hands pushed Jia’s face, and the blade in Xiaohan’s hand tore into Jia’s skin.  She backed away with a scream, blood seeping between her fingers, but Xiaohan was grinning.  He did not apologize.

 

The tiny white scar that lies under Jia’s eye is the first and final time that Xiaohan lay a hand on his family.  On the night of the incident, he packed up what little he had, stole a broadsword from the armory, and disappeared.

 

“Eventually, my parents grew wearier, and weaker.  They waited for three years until they died one month apart from each other.  I was eighteen. And now, the waiting has passed onto me.”

 

Loki’s heart is heavy when he asks, “For how long?”

 

“Thirteen years,” she answers, “and however longer still.”

 

Because Loki isn’t much of a help, he says, “It doesn’t sound like he wants to come home.”

 

Jia smiles, sorrowful.  “That may be. But I love my brother so much I keep the door open.”

 

As much as he might protest, Loki’s mind wanders to the people he used to call family.  Whatever lies the Allfather fed him, Frigga… Frigga was Loki’s mother through and through.  She showered him with love, trained him to strengthen his magic, nurtured him as her own.

 

Then when he arrived on Earth and Thor caught up to him, he told Loki that they mourned him.  He told him to come home. Loki thought he was only needed back on Asgard because of the Tesseract but… could Thor have meant something else?  Something simpler? Did _You come home_ just mean… come home?

 

Does that still hold now?  Are Asgard’s doors still open for him, just as Kay-Jia remains open for Jia’s brother?

 

“Well,” Loki mutters, “your family sounds honorable.”

 

Jia smiles.  “They are.”

 

“It makes sense that you’ve become a military advisor, one who sits on the king’s council.”

 

Jia’s smile widens, growing cryptic.  “But I’m not a military advisor.”

 

Loki furrows his brows.  “What other profession could you possibly have?”

 

“I told you it’s a game, Loki, I’m not going to ruin it.”  Jia chuckles. When she settles, she sits back a bit, eyeing Loki with interest.  “How about you?”

 

“What about me?”

 

“Will you tell me about yourself?” Jia asks, because this is a good a time as any to ask.

 

Loki only gives her an enigmatic smile.  “I hardly think you’ll have the time.”

 

“To listen?”

 

“To wait.”

 

Jia shrugs.  “I can wait.”

 

Loki shakes his head, a sad smile on his face.  “It’s best not to.”

 

“Sounds mysterious,” Jia says, wondering why Loki won’t budge.  “Makes me think you have bigger stories beyond gods and princes.”

 

 _Do I never_.  Loki chuckles darkly.

 

Jia squints at him before standing.  “I will open you yet, _zunjia_.”

 

“Oh, am I a respected guest now?” asks Loki, amused by the honorific.

 

“You always are,” replies Jia with just a hint of sarcasm.  She asks him if he’s had dinner, which he hasn’t. He says as much.  She tells him to wait for her so they can leave the library together and have dinner.

 

She is already at the door when she stops and turns to glimpse Loki.  He’s reopened the book, burying himself in the diagram, willing himself to be swept by the current of symbols he can’t read.  Jia recalls her mother’s notes.

 

“You know,” she calls out, making Loki turn to her, “face-reading isn’t set in stone.  Our faces may tell one thing, and yours might be ‘unlucky’... but with effort, you can change your destiny.”

 

Jia flashes Loki a reassuring smile before leaving.  Loki remains, pondering.

  
  


 

 

The following morning, Loki wakes up to the sound of metal.  Metal clanking against metal. Whooping. Wood slamming into wood.  The mild stench of sweat. Loki stirs, the noise only becoming louder as he escapes from sleep until he opens his eyes, sighing heavily.  His room is pitch-black, and from the lack of light seeping in from the slits in the window, it must be dark outside too.

 

More clanking.  More shouting. More wood.   _What is going on…_

 

When Loki exits the guest wing, resorting to eat breakfast instead of remaining in bed, his eyes grow when he discovers the source of the commotion.

 

Kay-Jia’s guards crowd the sizable expanse of land that separates the armory from the guest wing.  There must have been fifty of them, give or take a few, wearing training suits. In the darkness, in the distance, Loki can spot them setting up the area with wooden targets, chests of wooden staffs, bows and quivers of endless arrows, swords, javelins and spears, and stacks of wooden planks.  Puzzled, Loki continues onto the dining area.

 

Unbeknownst to himself, Loki finishes breakfast at lightning speed.  He doesn’t sprint to a spot near the guards, but he treks on with a purpose, quite thrilled to behold whatever is about to happen.

 

Loki settles under a large tree with no leaves.  He stands just far enough for the guards not to notice him, and in the still indigo of early morning, he knows he isn’t disturbing them.  But from here, he can distinguish the guards well. As it turns out, many of them are women — he never noticed before because under heavy armor they all look the same.  The crowd of them, different heights and weight classes and complexions and ages, are spread around the expanse, goofing off and behaving like old friends.

 

Whatever they’re doing out here this early in the morning, it seems they have started.  A few are sparring excitedly, wielding swords that glint even in the darkness. Someone fires three arrows at the same time, the arrows piercing the target yards ahead in a neat column while some guards applaud.  Two guards throw spears at a large target as though they only weigh like darts, the weapons slamming into the middle of the target. A handful of older guards try to wrangle them all, but the group remains hyper.

 

Two of the guards with swords have evolved their spar into some kind of dance.  They move effortlessly, beams on their faces, at one with the blades in their hands.  The clash of the swords ring throughout the space. One of them swipes the weapon out of the other’s hand all of a sudden, sliding the blade under their jaw close enough for the cold iron to graze their skin.  Loki never blinked but his brain can’t accept that, one moment, they were sparring and the next, one of them has won.

 

They chuckle in good spirits and bow at one another.  Loki swallows, suddenly glad that his neck didn’t meet those swords back in Joseon.

 

Jia spots Loki lingering beneath the tree.

 

“Loki?” she calls out as she approaches him.

 

Loki spares her a glance.  “Good m—”

 

He stops.  He turns again, more slowly, taking in Jia… and what she looks like right now.

 

Jia is clad in charcoal-colored leather, from the overcoat with an open upturned collar that reaches down to her wrists to the breeches to the knee-high black boots.  The suit is trimmed sharply, grey accents where it’s appropriate. The only thing that isn’t leather are her fingerless gloves. Hair pulled up in a large, high bun. In one hand she holds a golden-hilted sword encased in a vermillion iron scabbard engraved with the silhouette of a dragon.  It is disconcerting to see her in anything but a dress, more so because this ensemble reveals her willowy frame. Not less strong, but definitely tiny.

 

This particular morning, Jia is in a training suit, looking like one of the guards.  Loki’s face falls.

 

“Have you eaten?”

 

“What in the world are you wearing?”

 

Jia briefly looks down at herself.  “Clothes…?”

 

Loki turns to the rowdy group of guards then to Jia.  He falters, trying to collect his thoughts, his words.

 

“You aren’t—” He shakes his head.  “You aren’t going _there_ , are you?”

 

Jia chuckles.

 

“Jia, look at them.”  Loki motions to the guards.  One of them punches a wooden plank, snapping it in half, while their friends whoop for them.  “They’re mad. Why would you join them?”

 

“‘Join them’?”  Jia is amused. “I’m training them.”

 

Loki’s apprehension diminishes but his bewilderment grows.   _Who_ is _this woman?!_

 

“It’s been over a week since the melt, it’s the perfect day to restart training.”  Jia grins up at him. “Would you like to join us?”

 

Loki gives Jia a look that conveys a hard _No_ .  She shrugs — _If_ that _’s what you’d like_ — with a huge smile plastered on her face as she saunters off to where her guards continue to mess around.

  
  


 

Jia chuckles to herself at Loki’s words as she walks off.   _They’re mad_ , he said. _Why would you join them?_

 

But as she nears the training area, Jia tilts her head at the sight.  Save for the numerable few that are trying to gather the group, her guards are riotous.  Brash, even, as they carelessly play with the weapons laid out before them.  Jia knows that each of them is highly skilled — they would never have made it onto Kay-Jia’s detail if they weren’t — but perhaps the long winter has cocooned their composure.  They’d been inert for months and any chance to _move_ now is a blessing.

 

This isn’t how training normally begins.

 

One of the more sensible guards, who is also the head caretaker of the armory, notices Jia approaching.  She bellows at the top of her lungs to announce her advent. The guards adjourn the multiple things they’re doing just enough to show respect.

 

“Good morning, my lady,” the head caretaker bows when Jia reaches her.

 

“Good morning, Head Guard Doshi,” Jia greets the Maurya native.  She looks around at the guards, at the weapons in their hands and the sweat on their brows.  “Have we done _qigong_ yet?”

 

“No, my lady, we haven’t.  We would have, had it not been for”—Head Guard Neelam Doshi presses her mouth tightly—“unmerited excitement from our guards.”

 

Jia hides her smile as she sets her sword against a box of staffs.

 

“Weapons down,” Jia announces to the guards.  “Find a space.  I’ll lead us in _dong gong_ for twenty minutes.”

 

One by one, the guards wielding weapons return them.  They disperse soon after, spreading out in the expanse and surrounding Jia as they prepare to exercise.

 

Jia waits patiently until every guard has situated themselves at equal distances from each other.  Once she can feel their eyes expectantly trained on her, she takes a deep breath, nods, and begins.

 

Since the dawn of the Zhou court, when it wasn’t yet called Kay-Jia, _qigong_ has commenced every guard drill exercise.  Through the discipline of _dong gong_ , the Zhou implemented the practice into the training regimen to help the guards center themselves before the actual training.   _Qigong_ relaxes their bodies, clears their mind, and settles their souls, preparing each guard to sharpen their skills effectively and wisely during training without interruption.

  
  


 

 

Growing up as a prince in Asgard, much of whose culture is rooted in conquest, Loki received battle training.  Whether for etiquette, tradition, or actual preparation for some random skirmish, he _had_ to undergo palace-mandated training curated for him and his brother.  They trained alongside each other, which only diminished his already low desire to learn how to fight.  Thor thrived in physical altercation, even when they were children; he knew naturally how to use his body as a weapon, to use the space around him to maximize his chances of winning.  But Loki always believed that one’s fighting prowess is only as good as one’s knowledge.  There are other weapons besides weapons. Why fight when you can be diplomatic?  Why fight when you have magic?

 

What he’s seeing now, though, he finds no words to define.

 

The guards, at Jia’s leadership, have taken on an utter shift in atmosphere.  Brash behavior made way for a slow choreography.  Deep breaths have replaced shouting.  Eager hands have grown patient, swaying in the air, fluid.  Each of them an embodiment of serenity.

 

Loki furrows his brows, pulled in by their unity.  Whatever is happening seems to precede the intense part of training.  In the way back of his mind, Loki thinks that if they had done this back in Asgard, then maybe he would have participated more willingly.

 

In the center of it all is Jia, whose natural repose matches well with how quiet everything and everyone has gotten.  One moment, the guards are yelling; the next, not a sound falls but their breath. How she commands peace like this, Loki doesn’t know, and she’s proved to him already that he truly doesn’t know much.

 

Maybe Loki would have participated more if training in Asgard began like this, but perhaps only if Jia led it.  Perhaps.

 

By the time they finish, the sun has risen, bringing a soft glow to the court.  Without his knowledge, Loki has shuffled forward further.

  
  


 

 

After _dong gong_ , most of the guards break off to grab themselves a weapon or situate themselves near a target while the rest stays empty-handed.  All of them pair up.  At Jia’s command, they begin training at whichever skill they want to improve.

 

With a careful eye, Jia moves slowly from pair to pair, commending a stance, correcting a hand, demonstrating the right placement.  She asks and answers questions, attentive and supportive at both. As the head of the court, this is one of her jobs: to oversee and participate in the guards’ training and ensure that they are well-equipped to protect Kay-Jia.

 

Training is more frequent during the spring and summer.  In autumn, it dwindles until it stops entirely for the winter.  But after the melt, it picks up gradually, gaining intensity as spring and summer approach.  The routine repeats every year.

 

As Jia assists one of the newer guards at _wushu_ , she spots Loki over his shoulder.  Her guest has significantly gotten closer to the group.  She smiles, wrapping up her instruction before heading over to him.

 

“I thought you didn’t want to participate,” Jia says by way of greeting.

 

“That hasn’t changed.”

 

“Tell that to your feet.  Are you aware they’ve moved you close enough to look like you want to train?”

 

Loki scrunches his face, but it levels when he realizes that Jia is right.

 

Jia fake-gasps.  “Have your feet gained sentience?!”

 

“Shut up,” Loki mumbles, the tops of his ears reddening.

 

Jia laughs at him.  When she settles, she stands beside him as they survey the guards.

 

“That… little exercise earlier,” Loki pipes up, making Jia turn to him, “what was it?”

 

Jia smiles at his curiosity.  “ _Qigong_.”

 

“ _Qigong_ ,” Loki repeats, to test the word on his tongue.

 

“Precisely,” she says.  “Specifically, what we did is _dong gong_ , the dynamic practice of the _qigong_ system.  It wakes up the body, makes the guards aware of the space they occupy before training.”

 

Loki mulls.   _Qi_.  Life energy.   _Gong_.  Cultivation.

 

His voice is small when he asks Jia, “Can it help with healing?”

 

“It can.”  Jia’s eyes linger on Loki for a beat too long.  “Would you like to add it to your morning regimen?  To speed up your recovery?”

 

“I would like to try.”

 

Jia beams.  “We can make that arrangement.  Does tomorrow sound good to you?  I’ll tell Healer Chien.  She does it every morning, she can help you—”

 

“I was hoping that _you_ would do it.”

 

Jia loses herself in the intensity of Loki’s gaze.  Her mouth opens but no words come out.  Before she can muster anything, though, a loud whooping in the distance pierces the air.  Both Jia and Loki snap to the noise.  Jia excuses herself to check on it, leaving Loki hanging.

 

When Jia arrives at the scene, she finds Neelam on the ground, a spear clattered to the wayside near the head guard.  The guard she’s sparring with continues to holler in victory, raising his spear in the air with both hands.  A few bemusedly turn to him, not nearly caring enough to share in his moment of glory.

 

Jia helps Neelam to her feet.  The head guard is now sporting a gash on her cheek.  Jia gives the other guard a once-over.  He’s tall, young, and fresh; Jia can recall hiring him just before the winter.

 

“It seems you have bested Head Guard Doshi,” Jia calls to him.

 

The guard turns around, a self-satisfied beam upon his face.  “My lady!  Did you see us?  The way I threw her off and flipped her from her feet?”

 

“Astonishing,” Jia deadpans.

 

“Perhaps I should be a head guard now.”

 

Neelam growls under her breath.  Jia gives her a look, not admonishing but… knowing.

 

“We’ve only just restarted training,” she says.  “Everyone is readjusting to the training climate.  It might take time.”

 

“ _Or_ maybe _Head Guard_ Doshi just isn’t that good!” he barks in laughter by himself.

 

Neelam, with her fists clenched, moves to take on the young guard, but Jia blocks her with an arm.  Over her shoulder, Jia gives the head guard a smile and a nod. Immediately, Neelam relaxes. She knows what’s about to happen.

 

Jia turns to the guard.  “What’s your name?”

 

“Li Wang Lei, my lady,” the guard bows.

 

“Yuan native,” Jia nods.  “And you’ve only been here since before the winter, correct?”

 

The guard blinks, confused.  “Yes, my lady.”

 

“Then there is still plenty for you to learn about Kay-Jia,” Jia smiles.  “One of which is that here, we train together to hone our skills, not to make each other bleed.”

 

Neelam reappears at Jia’s side, this time holding Jia’s palace-issued sword, sheathed in its scabbard.  Swords like it are granted only to the highest ranking officials in Hanwoo, and only when they have earned it by doing something especially honorable.

 

“But you _have_ bested one of our head guards, so maybe you’ve earned a little prize.”  Jia adjusts her gloves. “Today, Li Wang Lei, you get to learn directly from me.”

 

Some of the guards notice the scene.  They slow down, their attention no longer on their own sparring.

 

“M- My lady…?”

 

“First lesson: hand-to-hand combat.”  Jia gestures for him to relinquish his spear.  “I’m ready when you are.”

 

Reluctantly, the guard puts away his spear and puts up his fists in front of his face.  More guards forgo their sparring to gawk at the young guard about to face off with the head of the court.  The newer guards nearly bounce in excitement, but the older guards already know how all this will end.

 

Jia takes her position.  Fists up, feet apart, shoulders squared.  She whispers a quick breath. The young guard blanches when he sees Jia’s smile.

  
  


 

 

Merely ten seconds have passed since the start of their little fight, but Loki learns quickly: Jia fights like a snake.

 

A single moment goes after they’ve put up their fists.  Jia moves in swiftly, shuffles a half-step forward.  Loki thinks she’ll throw a punch but she drops suddenly, one leg sharply extended, then _spins_ , swiping the guard off his feet with her leg.  He slams on his back against the hard-packed ground with a resounding thud.  As he groans, the other guards play audience and wince with him.  Jia has spun back up, towering over the guard with her fists clenched.

 

The air around Loki stills.  His heart pounds inside his ears.  His eyes darken, irises blown wide, boring hotly onto Jia as he watches her.

 

Jia helps the guard up.  He swings at her but she lowers herself in time and strikes a fist into his abdomen, sending him staggering backwards.  He shakes his fists, grits his teeth, and shouts as he runs at Jia with wild abandon. She deflects every messy punch — jab — strike.   _He’ll tire himself out too quickly if he keeps doing this_ , she assesses, as she swoops out from under his swinging arm.  It’s too late for the guard to react to Jia sneaking up behind him when she plants her foot and kicks him in the back.  He croaks out, landing in the arms of his fellow guards who are watching the fight.

 

“Learn your surroundings,” Jia notes solemnly as the guard heaves.  “You don’t have to punch so much if you know where to go.”

 

Jia has two strong points when it comes to fighting, and one of them is _wushu_.  Growing up, her parents knew right away that while she didn’t excel (and was never interested) in artistic affairs, she did have an affinity for physical contests.  They cultivated it by placing Jia under the watchful eye and expert hand of a Yuan monk.  From him, she learned grace, control, and technique.  And then from age thirteen, when she entered the workforce, she received training from martial instructors.  From them, she mastered brawn, potency, and ferocity.  She married all of those traits, and now she’s known in the court as a force at close combat.

 

Loki swallows air.  His hands have gone clammy while watching Jia fight.  He wipes them on his pants, clearing his throat, feigning innocence.

  
  


 

 

“Good?” Jia asks the young guard.

 

He pushes himself away from the other guards and turns.  Grimly, he nods at Jia, fists going up.

 

 _Well, he’s determined.  I’ll give him that_.

 

“You can put your fists down.  Our next lesson is on sword-fighting.”

 

Some guards whistle under their breath.   _He’s going to lose_ , someone in the back mumbles.  Neelam hands Jia’s sword to her.  Carefully, Jia draws out the freshly cleaned _yanmaodao_ , a thin metallic keen escaping as it slides out of its scabbard.

 

“Have you used swords before, Li Wang Lei?”

 

“Is that… Is that from the palace?” the guard mutters, incredulous.

 

“Do you have a preference?  Light or thin, heavy or curved?”

 

The young guard gulps.  “None, my lady.”

 

“Good.”  Jia nods at Neelam and the head guard throws a sheathed Kay-Jia _yanmaodao_ at the young guard.  “Our court’s swords tend to be lighter than standard-issue weaponry, so you’ve already got one on me.”

 

The same person from the back: _He’s still going to lose_.

 

Jia positions her feet.  Raises her free arm. Points her sword at the young guard.  She stares at him down the length of the blade.

 

She smiles.  “I’m ready when you are.”

 

Iron clashing against iron rings throughout the perimeter.  The dance between Jia and the young guard is smooth but menacing all the same; after all, they aren’t using wooden swords meant for beginners.

 

That, and the fact that Jia’s second strong point in fights is the sword.  She didn’t pick it up until she turned fifteen, after she passed the highest level of examination in Hanwoo (and thus was allowed to wield a sword for work), but mastering it came naturally to her.  Moreover, the government instructors who trained her and the others who passed the test are the best in the land. With her talent and their expertise, Jia quickly acquired the skill.  Four months into beginner training, she could wield two swords at once.

 

Every metallic clang is a strike into the heart of anyone who’s watching.  To the young guard’s defense, he knows how to handle the sword. But Jia is a veteran, and to her his flaws are glaring.  Too hard on his feet, uses his wrist too much.  Jia parries his attacks too effortlessly.  He’s on offense, but he’s the one who’s struggling.

 

“Lighter on your feet,” Jia advises as she deflects a hit with ease.  “Use your whole arm.  Grip the handle with both hands if necessary, but use your entire arm when you strike.”

 

“Ah, he’s a spearman, my lady,” a guard pipes up.  “He isn’t that familiar with swords.”

 

Jia arches a brow.  “Alright then.  No swords.”

 

The young guard wipes his glistening forehead, too aware that Jia hasn’t broken a sweat at all.  He stuffs the sword back in its sheath and sets it aside.  Neelam takes Jia’s sword and exchanges it with two staffs.

 

Jia throws one to the young guard.  “This should be similar enough to a spear, yes?”

 

Not even a minute into _gunshu_ , the young guard is already down and out.  It all happened too quickly: one moment, he and Jia are hitting — blocking — slamming their staffs into one another, then the next, Jia is kicking his staff from out of his grip and taps him hard on the side of his neck while hooking her leg with his and _lifting him_ , sending him to the ground flat on his chest.  Jia sticks her staff under his ankle and grunts as she forces him to flip over onto his back, sliding the end of the staff against his neck.  His groans, and the other guards grimacing in unison, fill the training area.

 

“You think too much,” Jia comments as she hovers above him.  “And you’re too reliant on the staff.”

 

She pulls away her staff and helps him up.  Purposely, she turns so that her back is facing the guards and they can’t see or hear what she tells the young guard.

 

“I’m not trying to embarrass you, and I’m sorry if I made you feel that way,” Jia whispers.  “You’re a good guard, but you’re new.  Understand from this point onward: here, we protect our own.  We do not hurt each other, especially not for something as fleeting as glory.  Is that clear?”

 

“Yes, my lady.”

 

Jia pats his arm and lets him go.  As he trudges away, Jia faces the rest of the guards.

 

“It must be the winter.  We must’ve been indoors for too long that we’ve lost touch with ourselves.”

 

The guards shift, scattered somber laughter sounding from the group.

 

“Each of you is commendable.  You wouldn’t be in my court if you were any less.”  Jia glances at the staff in her hand briefly before looking up.  “But the mind must be clear before a fight, even in training. And we must know how to wield more than one weapon — I need to be able to trust you, armed or not.  But keep in mind that our weapons can’t do the work for us.  They are merely tools, and they’re only as effective as we are.”

 

Jia surveys the guards, allowing her words to settle where they must.

 

“So, clear your minds, again,” she instructs.  “I don’t want to see you sparring even barehanded unless you’ve centered yourself.  Then, when you’re ready, begin training. Familiarize yourselves with weapons aside your own.  Let’s help each other out.  We can wrap up before lunch.”

 

One by one, the guards disperse.  Jia catches the eye of the young guard; she nods at him, and he returns it with a subtle but earnest bow.

 

Neelam approaches Jia.  “You continue to do better, my lady.”

 

“Do I?” Jia chuckles.  She points to her own face.  “You need to see a healer for that.”

 

“It isn’t too bad, but perhaps later when this is over.”

 

“Later is good.  Better, actually.”  Jia hands her staff over to her.  “For now, Neelam, I need you to help me with the bow.”

 

Neelam raises a brow, drawing in a breath through her teeth.  “I can’t promise that we’ll fix your… drawbacks before lunch, my lady.”

 

“We’re calling it drawbacks today, I see,” Jia nods.  “Well, that’s actually a compliment.”

 

She and the head guard share a laugh before Neelam goes to return the staffs.  Just as Jia is about to head over to where the bows and arrows are, she catches sight of Loki standing stock-still in his spot.  She marches over to him.

 

“You’re standing so still,” Jia says upon reaching him.  “Why do you look like you’ve seen a demon?  Did a mirror pass by?”

 

Loki blinks down at Jia, dumbfounded, her quip flying right over his head.  In his mind, he’s replaying everything that he just witnessed, from the close combat to the stick fight, attempting to reconcile the Jia that he’s known, ever so composed and pleasant, with the Jia he’s just seen, a stellar fighter in three different ways — at the very least.

 

He’s having flashbacks of the training grounds in Asgard, but his other foot remains in Kay-Jia.  He knows that Jia is standing before him, but he can’t snap out of his trance. It’s like he’s seeing her for the first time.

 

“ _Right_ ,” Jia murmurs, squinting up at Loki.  “Well, about _qigong_ — I’ll help you.  We can start tomorrow morning.”

 

Loki summons just enough consciousness to nod.  Glad that he hasn’t entirely turned to stone, Jia gives him a twinkling smile before she returns to the training area.

 

In more ways than one, Loki finds himself comparing Jia to the sun.  As she walks away, he only has one thought: the sun gives life, but it also burns.

  
  


 

 

Six days have gone by since Jia brought Loki out of the court, five days since he first witnessed her fight.  As she promised, Jia began doing _qigong_ with Loki the day after training, and then again on the days after that.  She wanted to laugh at how funny Loki’s stances are, but he’s been oddly determined to incorporate the practice into his life that she held herself back.  Instead she focused on the fact that although Loki’s healing has been solid, he still chose and continues to choose to put himself to work.

 

Moreover, in the past several days, Kay-Jia has been diligent at preparing the court for the lunar new year that is exactly one week away.

 

Slowly but surely, the court comes to life in varying decorations of red and gold.  Spheroidal lanterns and paper cuttings, door couplets and fortunes, paintings and other artwork spruce up the court.  Loki has no idea where they came from, but it seems with every new day, more and more festive ornaments appear.

 

It is through the lunar new year decorations that Loki realizes his plans to search for the Tesseract.

 

As he and Jia meditate, he schemes.  The lunar new year festival must be one of, if not, the busiest times in Hanwoo.  Throngs of people would congregate at the royal court. Festivities — Loki is certain there will be plenty — would distract everyone.  It is the perfect opportunity for Loki to slip away and teleport to the pass to look for the Tesseract.

 

He steals a glance over at Jia whose eyes are closed as she sways meditatively.  A part of him feels guilty for omitting his thoughts from her, from his plans to disappear some time during the festival to the Tesseract itself, especially now that he literally starts _and_ ends his days with her.  Still, Loki staying quiet will do Jia more good, like keeping her safe and out of whatever he might encounter out there when he leaves.

 

After today’s session, while Loki goes to eat breakfast, Jia checks on Po and the rest of the new litter.  They’ve grown a little bigger, perhaps three times since birth, and their fur is more prominent now. Their beady eyes have opened, but they stumble a bit if they take even a single step.  Sometimes they’ll growl, but it is no louder than a squeak.

 

“When will I be able to carry them?” Jia muses.

 

The old handler laughs.  “You’ll need to wait a few more weeks, my lady.”

 

Jia pouts as she squats down before the pen and coos at Po.  The pup tries to amble over to her but he flounders, making her giggle.

 

A servant appears in the wolves’ quarters.

 

“My lady,” he calls out, “several packages from Joseon and Yuan arrived addressed to you.”

 

Jia’s eyes widen.  She jumps up and dashes out of the quarters, squeaks a quick thanks to the servant, and doesn’t stop running until she reaches the main courtyard where two horse-drawn carts have just dropped off a mountain of parcels.  Jia instructs several servants to help her bring the boxes to the main house. As soon as they have brought in everything, the servants scamper out immediately.

 

Eight of the boxes are from Joseon.  The first four are Loki’s shoes: two regulars, one for court, and one to pair with the hanbok.  Two cream-colored boxes are bigger. One contains the five casual shirts of Loki’s daily wear; the other has the pants.  A silver box holds Loki’s grey court outfit — Jia runs her hand against the smooth fabric and grins slowly. The last box from Joseon is more elaborate, the biggest one from the pile, violet with gold trimmings and a gold bow.  Loki’s hanbok. Jia fights the desire to open it, setting it aside to check the last of the packages.

 

The parcels from Yuan came from the Zhou’s dressmaker.  Four boxes, two of which carry footwear. From the last two, Jia picks up a velvet black box on which the dressmaker’s shop’s name is embossed.  When she pries the lid off, she almost sighs at the clothing inside.  The special outfit for Loki.  Jia replaces the lid over the present and sets it aside to bring up to her bedroom where it will stay until the new year.

 

The final package is large, larger than the box the hanbok came in.  This one is scarlet, splatters of golden paint dotting the outside, held together by a wide bow in gold.  Loki’s hanfu for the festival. If Jia pulls on the bow, the box would bloom open like a lotus, but she doesn’t.

 

Instead, she brings the special outfit up to her room alongside the footwear for it.  Then she calls for servants again to help bring the boxes to their guest.  On their way to the guest wing, Jia spots Loki through the window of his room.  She beams.

  
  


 

 

“Loki!”

 

Loki looks up from the Yuan book he’s been scrutinizing for the past twenty minutes.  From the seat by the window, he stares at the door.

 

Jia calls out again.  “Are you there?”

 

He stays quiet.

 

A pause.  “I saw you through the window, I know you’re in there.”

 

Loki smirks, closing the book as he stands.  When he slides the door open, he doesn’t have time to register Jia carrying two big boxes.  She immediately pushes past him — followed by four servants also holding boxes. They drop the packages at his feet and flit out of the room, leaving the Jia and Loki alone.

 

He raises a brow.  “What is all this?”

 

“Your new clothes, of course!”  Jia opens one of the big boxes and shows it to Loki.  “They’re made for you, so they’ll actually fit and you won’t have to look like a spring roll anymore.”

 

Loki’s eyes roam over the parcels.  When he was measured in Joseon, he didn’t think it would amount to… this much.  He stares at Jia with an imperceptible expression, his mouth open, but it’s gone dry.

 

He continues to stare as Jia pairs the boxes together — the wardrobe, the footwear that go with them — and tells Loki about each outfit.  He hears her say that the violet box has his hanbok, to be worn for special occasions, and that the red box has his hanfu, which he must wear for the festival.  She talks about the shoes, how they might feel odd at first, but they become comfortable the more they’re worn. He sees her mouth move when she tells him he should hang his hanbok and hanfu up and, if he needs help putting them on as they can be a work, to not worry and call for her.

 

“They can sense your fear if you worry, and then it becomes harder to put on,” Jia giggles.

 

Loki doesn’t move.  He’s transfixed again, motionless, emotionless.

 

Jia heaves a sigh, smiling.  “Ah, the number of times I’ve brought things into this room.  You’d think I wasn’t the head of the court anymore.”

 

Loki hears her laugh.  Like the sun.

 

The sun has brought him presents.  The sun doesn’t know his plans.  The sun is radiant.  The sun burns.

 

Loki swallows.  “This is a lot.”

 

 _This is a lot_.  His own pathetic way of saying thanks.  Jia only smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- _if you looked up what “minor cold” is in chinese, then you know this chapter has an easter egg related to it 8-)_  
>  \- _but if you didn’t look it up, there are several easter eggs here for you too hehe_  
>  \- so loki thought that the main house is just some storehouse. that’s gonna kinda bite him later on  
> \- random but i’m wondering what jia’s love language is & i can’t decide if it’s physical touch? acts of service? maybe both? neither? 🤔 how about loki?  
> \- **me at 1:08 a.m.:** what are jia and loki’s enneagram types  
> \- “xingan” is a term of endearment that literally means “heart and liver” but symbolically means “my heart and soul” — literally someone you cannot live without :’)  
> \- **_the poem that jia’s dad writes about her mom is a real yuefu poem from the han dynasty :-)_**  
>  \- jia’s training suit: https://bit.ly/2wN8nWp  
> \- did loki get a boner while watching jia fight? did he fall in love? you decide  
> \- also! the little gunshu fight between jia and the guard is inspired by https://youtu.be/jXtB1UshqmI — this routine is mad TOIT, i had to watch it at 0.25 speed just to understand what was happening UGH I LOVE WUSHU
> 
> (also, i realized while editing this chapter that i mix both american & british grammar. pls excuse this bc i grew up learning british english & now i live in the u.s. but uhhh it's still really weird for me to spell things the u.s. way. like in the 5th grade i was still spelling things with u (colour, flavour, etc) — i'm about to be a junior in uni so i've let that go but the rest? yeet!)
> 
> thank you so much for reading/commenting/kudos-ing/passing by!!! next chapter is the lunar new year festival + a timeskip :D i love you all 3000


End file.
